


Born From Blood

by Anonymous_Introvert78, MinYun



Series: Poison or Medicine [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Gang World, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Bombs, Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups-centric, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Major Character Injury, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Protective Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shooting, Stabbing, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Wen Jun Hui still makes everyone uncomfortable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:41:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 116,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Introvert78/pseuds/Anonymous_Introvert78, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinYun/pseuds/MinYun
Summary: “Do you think I’d ask you to stay if I couldn’t protect you?” Seungcheol mused,  watching as Joshua nervously nibbled on his bottom lip. “I mean, from what I’ve seen, you can take pretty good care of yourself but so can I and I’m not prepared to let anything happen to you.”orAll Seungcheol knew was violence. From the day he could walk, he'd had a gun in his hand and a target on his back and now, finally, he was free to run his own operation, build his own team and live his own life. He just didn't expect to end up adopting eleven kids along the way.~This is a prequel to "Poison Or Medicine" but can be read as a stand-alone~
Series: Poison or Medicine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733302
Comments: 243
Kudos: 307
Collections: 17 hours





	1. Legacy Of A Choi

**Author's Note:**

> We're back! We hope that this fic will clear up most if not all of the questions we left you with on the previous one. Backstories are explained in further detail, character arcs are set up and the entire story revolves around Seungcheol building the team that we see in 'Poison Or Medicine'. We hope you enjoy!

Seungcheol wasn’t as excited as he should have been.

His room was pitch black but he’d closed his eyes anyway, allowing the darkness to encompass him as his fingers disassembled and reassembled the gun on the table in front of him. He’d done the same thing enough times to be able to do it in his sleep.

It used to be a necessity. He had to know his way around a firearm. But now it was just one of the many soothing techniques he used when the anxiety was building too high. The slip and click of all the pieces settling into their assigned spaces, the slimy sensation of oil on his nails, the cool steel surface against his palm.

This was what he knew.

He opened his eyes and clicked on the lamp, allowing a dull and dim glow of gold to subtly penetrate the velvet of his surroundings. There was a perfectly-pressed black suit hanging on his closet door, a pair of flawlessly-shined shoes sitting just below it.

On his desk before him sat his gun, its holster, a box of ammo and a few freshly sharpened throwing knives: his typical arsenal that he carried wherever he went.

He should have been happy about leaving this place.

He was free of the vigorous training, the beatings, the interrogation drills and the recon missions that all the underlings had to undergo before they were finally deemed ready and capable enough to sit at the big boy table, so to speak.

As the only suitable heir to the Choi clan, he was set to stand before the heads of the Kims and the Mins along with their own respective predecessors. 

It was one of the major events in the Daegu underworld. A graduation of sorts. A graduation many didn’t make it to. Some were killed, others ran away. Just last month, he’d heard that a side branch of the Min family had escaped during the night.

He should have been happy.

He turned eighteen a few months ago and therefore was now considered old enough to take on jobs of his own, lead his own gang, carry out punishments and executions in the name of the Chois.

He’d received his brand just yesterday. The swelling was still fresh, the sting was still potent, the brilliant red of the dragon insignia permanently etched into the pale skin of his shoulder.

He should have been excited about this.

But he wasn’t.

He knew very little about life outside of these four walls he’d grown up in. Sure, he’d been on countless missions, some of them even sending him as far as the States so he could assist in various tasks, but he’d been born into this.

Raised with a gun in one hand and a knife in the other, his first kill had been when he was nine and his first mission was at age twelve. This life – this violence – was all he’d ever known and yet he still wasn’t content.

He felt like something was missing. But how could he wish for more?

The door opened behind him but he didn’t turn around, simply allowing the illumination from the hallway to cast a little extra light over him and his work table.

“Cheol, baby?” came his mother’s softened voice.

Her perfume was strong on the air and Seungcheol breathed it in, trying to ingrain the familiar scent into his memory since he had no idea how long it would be until he smelt it again.

“You’re going to be late,” she said, flipping on the lights. “You don’t want to keep your uncle waiting.”

Seungcheol was well aware that his uncle was waiting, that he’d been waiting for almost twenty minutes and that he’d only just sent his mother because he was getting impatient, but Seungcheol didn’t want to show his irritation.

Acting on emotions was the crux of the Chois. Above all, they valued their image. A Choi must never appear weak.

And Seungcheol had been trained well. He didn’t show weakness. It had been snuffed out of him somewhere in the midst of his childhood, although his father would strongly disagree.

Humming a gentle tune, his mother took a brush to his hair. It wasn’t something she usually did but he could feel the nervousness radiating off her so he permitted the display of parental affection.

She was a stripper back in her teens. His father had snatched her out of that life and introduced her to his. They’d settled down, had his sister – who had died three years ago – and then had him.

His mother had always hoped that bearing children would soften her husband but the man hadn’t changed from the monster he would always be. He wasn’t as abusive as he was neglectful and it could be worse but Seungcheol would never truly love him.

At least he had his mother and, in some ways, his uncle.

Seungcheol loved his mother. He valued everything she’d taught him even if it went against all the proverbs of the Chois. So, much to his father’s dismay, Seungcheol had grown up as kind as he was ruthless.

His heart was as soft as his body was hard, he led with a gentle fierceness that demanded respect but inspired awe. Whenever he stepped out into the field, he was always chosen as leader because the men who followed him knew that he would defend them with his life and, in turn, they would defend him with theirs.

He had gained a kind of respect that even his father was short of.

And yet, despite the strength of his conscience and sense of right and wrong, he was still just as dangerous as he would have been without his mother’s interference. He was barely an adult but he was already renowned and feared.

But here he was, allowing his mother to fuss as much as her little heart desired until he was all dressed and ready to go. He kissed her on the cheek, told her he loved her with all his being, and then left to face his future.

He slipped his shades on against the glow of the slowly-setting sun. The heels of his dress shoes clicked on the concrete as he strutted confidently and casually towards the heavily tinted car his father and uncle stood next to.

Choi Soobin, his father, was one half of the Choi clan’s most deadly twin duo.

His uncle, Wonbin, wore a crisp suit similar to the one Seungcheol himself had adorned, a white shirt peaking out from behind a neat blazer. In contrast, his father bore grey cargo pants and army boots, his muscular torso concealed by a form-fitting Henley.

Both their brands spanned their backs, the tail end of the dragons curling into the base of their necks. 

Wonbin was the head of the Choi clan but he had no sons and Seungcheol often rolled his eyes at the technicalities. He wished that, sometimes, they could just be power-hungry tycoons like some of the clients they escorted instead of this twisted monarchy he’d been sat at the centre of.

“Do you think this is a game, Seungcheol?” Soobin hissed. “If we’re late, do you think we deserve the forgiveness of the Mins simply because an ignorant child decided to play a game?”

“Soobin … now, now,” Wonbin soothed, giving his brother a calming pat on the shoulder. “We have plenty of time.” 

Seungcheol paid them no mind, slipping silently past their broad figures and clambering into the back seat of the car. He just wanted to get this over with. He wanted to escape this place and all its ins and outs.

It was unfair that he had to undergo this entire process because Wonbin’s first love died without bearing any children and the second just so happened to be the young man standing next to his mother at the front steps to the house.

And suddenly, Seungcheol was presented with a task he couldn’t fight, kill or talk his way out of, and he didn’t like that feeling one bit.

After a few moments of angry murmuring outside, the words ‘childish’ and ‘arrogant’ being tossed around the air, his father and uncle joined him inside the vehicle and they headed off to Seungcheol’s graduation.

\-----------------------

It was just after six when they pulled up outside the Min mansion. By then, the sky was an inky blue-black, providing the perfect backdrop to the monstrosity of a building sitting proudly at the end of the long white-stoned driveway.

The Mins always had been extravagant with their gatherings.

A valet took the car and a slave boy ushered them up the stairs towards the huge mahogany doors that led to the house itself.

Seungcheol wanted to shake his head at the behaviour his father and uncle were displaying. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind how dangerous the pair were but their showboating was beginning to grind his gears.

The way they turned their noses up and looked down on anything that moved as if it was beneath them was just a classic example of their superiority complex and Seungcheol kept a respectful distance, following a little behind them as they moved forward, cutting the entire line at the doors and swanning directly over to the host table.

“Soobin! Wonbin!” a man called from the entryway.

Seungcheol didn’t see who it was, keeping his head respectfully bowed in the presence of their world’s standard of royalty. It would definitely not do to disrespect anybody on a day like this.

The Mins were fond of displays. They could very easily turn this graduation into an execution if it so pleased them. They owned Daegu and, for all the defiance Seungcheol often displayed, he knew there was a time and a place for everything.

His father and uncle struck up a conversation as they went and Seungcheol was careful not to look anybody in the eye. He spotted the heir of the Min clan and two of the Kims but he didn’t stop to make conversation.

He was bored out of his mind. He glanced down at his watch to see that only fifteen minutes had passed and he let out a dramatic sigh, finding a pillar to prop himself against in an attempt to take some of the weight off his feet.

He could probably fall asleep here. Probably. If his shoes didn’t pinch and his holster didn’t dig into his side. Like his father, he preferred to wear boots and cargo pants but the suit was necessary for the event.

“Hey, are you S.Coups?”

Seungcheol looked up and his gaze honed in on a pair of light brown eyes. The girl who owned them was wearing a silky white dress with thin chains for straps and a scooping neckline that showed off more than enough of her cleavage. Her heels brought her height up to his shoulder and her thick glossy black hair fell in graceful waves down her back and around her shoulders.

She was beautiful. It was such a waste.

“Who’s asking?” Seungcheol asked, sounding as bored as possible in the hope that she would leave him alone.

Instead, she rolled her eyes and stuck out her hand for him to take, “Ahn Hyejin. I’m your escort for the night.”

Seungcheol knew what that meant but, judging by the proud smile on her face, she didn’t. The first two things gifted at a graduation were a girl and a gun, and he already had the gun.

“Well, come on,” she coaxed, linking her arm through his and dragging him from his spot against the pillar. “Let’s at least get some wine.”

He didn’t exactly have anything better to do so he allowed her to lead him over to a passing waiter with a silver platter of drinks. He took a couple of glasses for the two of them and she downed hers in one, licking her lips at the sweet tang of the alcohol slithering down her throat.

“Here.”

He offered his own glass and she had the grace to look embarrassed as she took it from him. He didn’t mind. He wanted her to enjoy her night. He knew it would be her last. 

The ceremony started at eight.

There were a lot more people in attendance than he’d originally thought; Chois, Mins and Kims alike along with a whole host of others.

Seungcheol and Hyejin stood side by side with the other heirs, all of whom he tried not to look too closely at. He could tell which of them was a Min just by the stature and paleness alone: the brutal Honourable Min Suga.

At the end of the line was the heir of the Kims, who just so happened to be female. Their clan didn’t handle business in the same way that the Chois and Mins did so it didn’t matter to them whether or not their next leader was a woman.

All the family heads lined up and took it in turns to shake their hands one by one, most of them clapping Seungcheol on his still-healing brand and forcing him to smile politely through the pain.

When it was finally over, he breathed a sigh of relief before he was expected to greet his fellow graduates.

“Congratulations, Mr Coups,” Kim Taeyeon said, holding out a hand that Seungcheol shook.

The Kims had hired the Chois several times for escort security and grunt work so he’d met Taeyeon before. She was a little older than he was but had inherited one of the major companies after her brother was killed in the field so she was only just technically gaining her title.

He greeted Min Suga next but, as advised, kept his head down when he gripped the small man’s hand.

Suga gave an exasperated sigh, “I expected a lot more arrogance from the Chois’ heir.”

Seungcheol glanced up before he could catch himself and a lazy smirk stretched itself over Suga’s lips.

“There it is,” he chuckled airily with a subtle dip of his head. “Welcome, Mr Coups. I hope to work with you once we both become leaders.”

Seungcheol returned the gesture, a little thrown off by the unexpected show of respect from the second most powerful man in all of Daegu, but he took it in his stride as he guided his escort further down the line.

He tried not to stay in the same orbit as Suga for too long, a feat that wasn’t exactly difficult since he had such a tight entourage surrounding him at all times. Instead, he found himself speaking to the Kims and a few underlings that had accompanied him from home.

The night ended just as he expected it, too.

He was called into the main office and forced to stand before the heads of the Mins and the Kims as well as his uncle-father duo, hands folded politely behind his back and eyes staring resolutely forward as a mark of undeniable respect.

“Choi Seungcheol, known as S.Coups, tonight you are officially welcomed into the fold,” Min started, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. “Are you branded?”

Leader of the Daegu province, Min Yeonjun looked a lot like his son: small and docile, an easy lazy smile that seemed in equal parts mocking and fond.

“I am.”

“Good,” Seongho, head of the Kim clan, chimed in. He was a mammoth of a man: tall, large and stuffed into a pinstriped suit. “Have the Chois presented you with a gun?”

“They have.”

“And have you been approached by your escort for the night?” his uncle asked.

Seungcheol cringed internally and barely suppressed a shiver. He knew it was tradition but that didn’t stop him from feeling more than sorry for Hyejin, wondering how she had ended up in this mess and why they had picked her so young.

“Yes.”

“Then it is settled,” Kim said. “Welcome.”

Seungcheol bowed respectfully, “Thank you. It is an honour.” 

“Enough of that,” Min dismissed, gesturing towards the chair that Seungcheol lowered himself into. “Onto the important part.”

He waited as Min assessed him in his typical laidback manner.

“Seungcheol,” he began at last, glancing over at his uncle and father. “I’ll be honest with you. There are only two openings available and I know which my son will choose. The Kims have their own ventures lined up and my boy already has a very prominent team in place here.”

Seungcheol nodded his understanding. He was aware that it would come down to something like this. Of course, the Mins would favour their own. But that meant there was another job that Suga didn’t want to take.

“It’s a start-up position. You’ll have to go in from scratch. As you are aware, we always need reps in the larger cities. I’ve already sent out a batch to Busan and Ulsan so Seoul is the only one left. It’s larger and you’ll need a bigger team. You won’t have much by way of backup so you’ll have to stay low for as long as you can.”

Seungcheol blinked. Was Min kidding? This was a dream come true. 

His own team, far from here, no one to answer to, no one but him in control. He knew Seoul had a couple of small gangs milling about but he could get rid of them easily enough, or even join forces. So many plans were already unfolding in his mind.

And then the other shoe dropped.

“There is one other thing, Seungcheol,” Kim started warily. “The issue of a missing shipment. As Min just said, we don’t currently have a rep in Seoul so when supplies did not make it back here, we had no way of finding it. Once you arrive in the city, you’ll need to find out who was responsible and … um … deal with the issue.”

“Don’t fucking pussyfoot around it, Seongho! Coups is not a child!” his father snapped, pounding his oversized fist on the table. “You need to kill them so that they won’t pose anymore issues. This is the fourth shipment to go missing.”

“Calm yourself, Choi,” Min ordered coolly. “Coups will deal with it in whichever way he sees fit.”

Seungcheol understood. He still had to prove himself. The moment it seemed like he couldn’t handle it, they would switch someone in to take his place and send him crawling back to his father and uncle.

“I understand and I accept, Honourable Min, Honourable Kim …” Seungcheol confirmed, getting to his feet and bowing to each of the leaders in turn, barely suppressing an eye roll when he reached his father and uncle.

Spinning on his heel, he reached for the door but Min Yeonjun’s comfortable drawl cut through the air like a whipcrack, his amused smirk still in place.

“Oh, and Mr Coups … Try not to make too much of a mess with the girl. Blood is such a bothersome stain to scrub out.”

\------------------------

He was only given a week to prepare.

His mother helped him as best as she could, packing his bags and giving him the numbers of some trusted real estate agents. He bought two buildings, against his better judgement, but he had no idea what exactly he was going to face and it was better to be safe than sorry.

His uncle arranged for him to attend a gathering once he arrived in Seoul so he could integrate into the scene as seamlessly as possible and make a good impression.

“Cheol …”

“Don’t start, Eomma,” he said, but there was no real anger in his tone.

His mother was always fussy when he had to leave for anything. She had straightened his jacket three times already and now was combing her fingers through his hair as though she was trying to rake the strands from his scalp.

“Just remember to call me,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

She felt so small against him. He still remembered the days when he was tiny enough to hide behind her skirts and now he dwarfed the very woman who had birthed him.

“I will,” he said softly, pressing his lips into her hair and giving her one last squeeze before drawing away. “Be safe.”

His father and uncle stood to the side, faces impassive, but Seungcheol could see the miniscule flicker of uncertainty in Wonbin’s eyes. He’d always been a little bit softer with his nephew, maybe because he didn’t have children of his own.

Seungcheol nodded at them and then climbed into his truck.

Not once did he look back as he drove away.


	2. Best Night Of My Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be wary. This chapter is very dark

Seoul was different. Seungcheol was finding that out very quickly.

It was bigger, louder, brighter and, while back in Daegu the crime world mingled seamlessly with the mayor and the politicians and the police force, Seoul’s underworld seemed to play by its own rules. 

Seungcheol didn’t bother to bring a date or get too dressed up for his first ever ‘event’ and, once he arrived, he was glad he’d been feeling lazy that evening. When his father told him he was going to a party so he could mingle and form ties, he hadn’t thought it would be a slave auction.

If he didn’t know his father would be keeping the closest of tabs on him through the numerous contacts he’d stationed in the building, he would have walked straight out the door.

Instead, he spread his arms obediently as the guards swept their magnetic wands around his body, searching for any sign of a weapon. Once they waved him through, he collected his watch and belt from the other side of the metal detector with a subtle smirk.

If only they knew what he could do with a watch and a belt.

“Can I take your coat, sir?” a small voice asked and he turned to see one of the slave girls tentatively approaching him. 

All the slaves – and there were a lot of them – were wearing white shirts, white pants and the colours of the house they belonged to.

The ones in the kitchen had black aprons, the floor workers had wrist bands that looked more like heavy metal manacles and the ones for sale – most likely for sex – had been decorated with thick black chokers complete with rings through the back for their leashes.

Seungcheol had always detested the idea of slaves. Obviously, he’d had servants at home but all of them were employed to make a living or to pay off a debt. Absolutely none of them had ever been abducted or held against their will.

But looking around at that moment, Seungcheol knew things were different here.

“No,” he answered shortly, stepping past the girl and advancing towards the main hall.

He didn’t wait for the scampering slave boy to open the heavy oak doors for him. As he stepped over the threshold, he got the first glimpse of his new life.

He was underdressed, he knew that now, but he was underdressed in a bespoken black Armani suit, black Tom Ford Oxfords and a long KYE coat so he wasn’t feeling too self-conscious about it.

“Sir?” 

Another girl scurried over, a number in one hand and a bidding paddle in the other. She looked as if she was going to attach the numerals to his coat herself but he snatched the sticker from her grasp.

The way she shrunk back in on herself tugged on his heartstrings but he looked away. His mother would be disappointed, maybe even horrified, at his behaviour but kindness was a luxury here and it had to be earned.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the girl ticking something off her checklist and his number, upon closer inspection, had his name printed on the back in neat cursive font.

They knew exactly who he was. So much for staying low.

There were people everywhere. Whether gathering in tight clusters or individually milling about, all of them had numbers plastered to their chests and bidding paddles slotted carefully into their blazer pockets or tucked beneath their arms so their hands were free to hold the champagne glasses.

Seungcheol swiped his own beverage from a passing waiter and downed it in one. If he was going to get through tonight then he was going to need to be more than a little tipsy.

Keeping to the wall so as to remain as inconspicuous as possible, he made his way towards the stage at the front and felt his lip curling in disgust.

The slaves up for sale were still arriving, shepherded and shoved by various sleazy-looking perverts, but the ones who had already been gathered were kneeling in a line at the side of the stage, out of the way and mostly hidden from the rest of the guests.

Each of them had their own number hanging on strings around their necks and their heads were bowed, hands resting pliantly against their thighs in a mark of submission and terror. A couple of them were crying.

It was barbaric. Sadistic. Cruel. Seungcheol would gladly whisk all of them away from here and return them to their families but such a mission was impossible and he had no doubt that he was the only guest in this building who felt the same way.

He turned around, intending to walk away from the sight of one of the officials grabbing a girl by the jaw and spitting something vicious and vile in her face, but a flash of movement and burst of sound caught his attention.

A side door was thrown open and a large man with rat-like features and an ugly little ponytail sprouting at the back of his head lumbered over the threshold. He was practically bursting out of his suit, rolls of belly fat hanging over his waistline, and his chin was heavily bristled from neglect.

But Seungcheol was more interested in the person he was dragging behind him.

It was a boy, probably the same age as Seungcheol himself, and he was dressed in the familiar slave getup: white shirt, white pants, thick black collar, no shoes. He looked absolutely petrified.

There were dried tear tracks on his cheeks and he was digging his bare heels into the floor, struggling and pleading and frantically trying to wriggle free of the bruising grip on his upper arm.

Seungcheol averted his eyes so as not to draw attention to himself but kept his auditory nerves on alert so he could catch what the boy was whimpering.

“Please … Master, please … I’m sorry … I swear, I’ll be good … Please … I’m sorry … I won’t do it again … I swear … Please …”

His cries went unanswered. His ‘master’ threw him unceremoniously to the floor before seizing a fistful of his hair and manhandling him into a kneeling position beside the rest of the slaves.

The boy’s face was twisted in pain but he kept apologising through gritted teeth, pleading for forgiveness and swearing his undying loyalty. The only result it got him was a heavy smack to the back of the head that almost knocked him over again.

“This will teach you,” Seungcheol heard the ponytail guy snarl as he wrapped his thick sausage fingers around his captive’s throat. “Hopefully, whichever bastard rents you out for the night will get you to see that you could have far crueller masters than me.”

He released his victim and stepped back, leaving the kid trembling on his knees at the end of the line, fingers curling into the material of his pants, eyes screwed shut and lips forming silent shapes, as though he were praying.

And Seungcheol felt his heart shatter.

He was neither ignorant nor in denial. He knew there was evil such as this in the world but he’d never before witnessed it for himself.

Swiftly scanning the lots up for auctioning, he deduced that most of them – if not all of them – would be bought as servants.

None of them were blindingly attractive and, although it was surprising, most of the guests in this room were exactly the type to be picky about the people they purchased for sex. 

Those kids were much more likely to be forced into labour or drug runs or turned into dispensable pawns that could be used as distractions during recon missions.

Except that boy.

Seungcheol knew exactly what would be happening to him tonight.

Behind him, a couple of guests had shuffled forwards to get a better look at the prizes on offer, and he caught snippets of their slightly slurred conversation in between background noises.

“Shit … It’s that kid again. Remember him?”

“Which one?”

“The one on the end.”

“Jesus Christ, is he up tonight?”

“Looks like it.”

“How much did he go for last time? It was something ridiculous, wasn’t it?”

“A couple of million, I think it was.”

Seungcheol almost choked on his champagne. He’d never heard of a slave going for more than a few hundred thousand, maybe a million at most, but never more than that. Apparently, the boy was famous.

“That seems a bit excessive. Isn’t he only ever available for one night?”

“Yeah, I’ve worked with the guy who owns him. Says he’s a disobedient brat. Keeps trying to escape. He’s a feisty one, that’s for sure. Apparently, renting him out is the only way to get him to behave for a few months.”

“Is he worth it, though? All that cash and you don’t even get to keep him.”

“Oh, trust me, man. He’s worth it.”

Seungcheol had heard enough.

It wasn’t his business. None of this was his business. He only came to form a few professional relationships and maybe get some tips on the fastest way to gather a team. 

This had never been in the plan, but when the call for the auction started, he found his seat next to an older couple who absolutely reeked of money and set his paddle on his lap.

The first on the stage was a girl. She looked young, couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Limp black hair, bony frame, short. She didn’t go for much. A couple of hundred and she would most likely become a kitchen slave for the stoic man who bought her.

Next was a boy, maybe a little older than Seungcheol. Tall and lightly muscled with a crooked nose and a prominent scar on his face. Scarred slaves sold for less. His bid didn’t even make it to the hundreds but he would be a very competent runner.

The entire thing had Seungcheol’s stomach rolling as, one by one, these humans were put on the stage and bid on, sold like pieces of meat for money that wouldn’t even feed them for a day so they could be sent off into a torturous life.

He decided then and there that, when he eventually got old and powerful enough, he would do something about the slave trade. But, until that time, he knew he had to pick his battles.

It was a lucrative business. A lot of people would be against the shut down but maybe he could control it, impede its progress a little. It wasn’t plausible but he had to at least try.

“Not a very attractive bunch this time around, huh?” the old man next to Seungcheol spoke up with a hearty chuckle.

Seungcheol shifted uncomfortably in his chair before grinding out the response, “Uh … Not really.”

“What are you looking for?” the man continued, clearly oblivious to his companion’s distaste. “You’re pretty young. Did your boss send you for runners?”

The question was innocent but Seungcheol’s hackles still rose. He hadn’t been  _ sent _ by anyone. He was his own boss now so, yeah, he still answered to the major Daegu families but, here in Seoul, he was in charge.

“I’m not here for anything in particular.”

“Ah, you must be new,” the old man smirked. “I’m Mr Kwan and this is my wife.”

The woman beside him leaned forward slightly so Seungcheol could see the gentle smile on her face and the way her wrinkled fingers were wrapped around her husband’s forearm. The pair of them looked like sweet unassuming little grandparents. Filthy rich grandparents, but kind of cute all the same. 

“S.Coups,” Seungcheol introduced himself curtly, feeling a swell of pride when the Kwans’ eyebrows rose.

“Ah … yes, we heard the Mins sent you personally. Welcome to Seoul.”

He dipped his head in a gesture of gratitude but, before any more comments could be made or questions could be asked, the murmurs around them died down and he glanced up to see the staff finally dragging that boy onto the stage.

He was still struggling until they threw him to his knees in the centre of the platform and he got a clear view of just how many people were suddenly giving the event their full attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer crowed triumphantly. “A crowd favourite has returned!”

Seungcheol felt his eyes narrow as the boy’s head was yanked backwards by his hair and the small bloody slit on his lip was made visible to the entire room. His eyes were watering, either from pain or fear, and, even from this distance, it was clear to see that he was shaking.

“I wonder how much young Jisoo will go for tonight …” Kwan’s wife asked absently, picking at a piece of fluff on her husband’s sleeve.

Jisoo? Was that his name?

“Um … Mr Kwan …” Seungcheol choked. “How do I …?”

“Ah … Jisoo caught your eye,” the man chortled. “It’s not a great investment. All you get are bragging rights but I suppose, if I was your age, I’d have a go.”

His wife gave him a playful smack on the wrist and they both shared a laugh, as though the subject of their joke wasn’t a child being sold for sex against his will.

“You just raise the paddle dear,” the woman supplied, sending Seungcheol a wink. “I’ll help.”

The bidding started. It was nothing like the auctions on TV. Nobody was fast-talking or calling numbers as their lips moved at the speed of light. It was much easier to keep up with what was going on and, as the profits rose, Jisoo’s shaking intensified.

The starting price was five thousand but a few paddle raises and pointed fingers later, the gavel hit the table and, just like that, it was over for a cool three and a half million. 

And Seungcheol felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“You won, dear,” Kwan’s wife whispered, seeming genuinely excited as she reached across her husband to squeeze his hand.

He couldn’t believe he’d just bought a slave for the night. There were sweat stains on the paddle from the palm of his hand and his muscles were wracked with tremors. He’d just bought a slave. How the fuck was he ever going to justify that?

All his money still read on his father’s books.

How fucking irresponsible. His first night in Seoul and he purchased a slave. A sex slave. That he didn’t even get to keep. And then he felt sick that his first concern was facing his father’s wrath.

“Here,” Kwan offered, holding out a piece of paper for him to take. “Call it a welcome present.”

Two guards approached their table and gestured for Seungcheol to follow them. He obliged, keeping his chest up and his shoulders back despite the disgusted uncertainty squirming in his gut.

The fat man with the ponytail stood at the door at the end of the hallway he was brought to. 

The set up wasn’t dissimilar to that of a hotel, a long corridor dotted with numbered rooms. One way in, one way out and cameras everywhere.

All the other doors were open and unguarded. No other sex slaves had been sold that night.

“Cash up-front, then you can go in,” the ponytail guy demanded as Seungcheol approached his assigned room. “You have twelve hours. You’re allowed to leave bruises but nothing that will last longer than a few weeks. No broken bones, no concussions, no facial or disfiguring injuries.”

He stuck out his hammy hand and Seungcheol slipped the piece of paper into his palm. The peddler unfolded it and raised a bushy black eyebrow.

“How did you get a favour from Kwan?” 

Seungcheol didn’t bother gracing him with an answer. He had no idea who Kwan really was or that the paper was a favour, but this guy didn’t have to know that.

“Is that all?” he snapped coldly, picking at some non-existent lint on his shoulder. “I hope this waste of time isn’t coming out of my twelve hours.”

The fat guy gave a nod of his bulbous head, gesturing for the guard to unlock the room, and Seungcheol stepped inside. 

He caught the muffled sound of their quickly retreating footsteps on the carpet outside before he closed the door and drew the bolt across.

The room was nice enough, large and sparsely decorated. There was no carpet, a queen-sized bed sat in the centre adorned with white sheets and a plastic tarp had been set up in the corner along with a table full of what Seungcheol would consider instruments of torture.

The en suite bathroom looked clean, towels and robes hanging on the back of the door, and everything smelled like some kind of cookie-scented candle.

Seungcheol heard the harsh breathing before properly setting eyes on Jisoo. 

He was quivering like a leaf in his position crouched next to the bed, one hand cuffed to the post and the other pathetically trying to shield his head as he sobbed into his knees. He wasn’t wearing any clothes and his hair was still dripping wet.

Yet, even in that state, he looked up at Seungcheol with defiance in his eyes and growled out the words, “If you put your dick anywhere near my mouth, I’ll bite it off.”

His voice was scratchy and it cracked more than a few times, destroying the threat he’d been trying to make, and Seungcheol felt his lips curling in a very faint, very sad but still very amused smile.

That guy had been right. He sure was feisty.

Approaching slowly, he dug the key to the cuffs out of his pocket and handed it to Jisoo, nodding in encouragement when the boy still looked unsure. He kept his misted eyes fixated mistrustfully on Seungcheol as he reached up to free himself from the restraints. 

His wrist was rubbed raw and bruised and Seungcheol wished he had some kind of cream on hand that would help soothe the pain it must be causing but Jisoo didn’t look like he would be accepting anything else from him anytime soon.

He was still crushed into the tiniest ball, his legs probably cramping up from holding the same position so tightly, so Seungcheol retreated a few steps and shrugged off his coat in an attempt to show the boy that he wasn’t planning to hurt him.

“Jisoo, is it?” he asked inquisitively, pushing his hands into his pockets and noting how Jisoo’s eyes followed his every movement.

“Joshua,” he spat, and Seungcheol gave a hum of acknowledgement.

“You aren’t Korean then.”

“And you aren’t from Seoul.”

“Guilty.”

“What do you want from me?” Joshua hissed, but Seungcheol heard the way his breathing picked up despite the hostility he was trying to add to his tone. He was clearly terrified. “Whatever it is, just get it over with.”

Seungcheol had heard how they spoke about him out there. This wasn’t just run of the mill prostitution. This was a punishment.

“Go dry off, Joshua.”

Joshua hesitated for half a beat before very slowly rising from his position from the floor and doing as he was asked. 

He was choosing his battles, and that was how Seungcheol knew he was smart. He understood that if he didn’t fight the little things then there would be no unnecessary violence.

“Now come here,” Seungcheol ordered, patting the space on the bed next to where he’d taken the liberty to stretch out, still wearing all his clothes. “And grab a robe.” 

Joshua didn’t seem to know what to make of it but he obeyed anyway, obviously glad to be able to cover up even as he slowly crawled onto the mattress and knelt next to his client, hugging the clothing close to his skinny body.

Seungcheol sighed and sat up, “You aren’t comfortable.”

“Should I be?” Joshua blinked. “You do know that you bought a sex slave?”

“Don’t remind me,” Seungcheol groaned in response. “It’s a good thing Kwan did what he did. I would never have been able to explain this one away.”

He was aware that he was oversharing but he really wanted Joshua to loosen up a little. He wanted him to relax and feel safe. He had no intentions of laying a hand on him or being with him in  _ that  _ way. He just wanted the kid to have a moment of peace.

Joshua raised a confused eyebrow but shifted from his knees to sit cross-legged next to Seungcheol. He was still holding himself tightly, but seemed a lot calmer.

“Um … Kwan … Kwan is an acquaintance of mine.”

It seemed Joshua was oversharing tonight, too. Telling anyone that he had friends risked him revealing where he was headed when he ran away and, from the rumours Seungcheol had heard outside in the hall, Joshua ran away a lot.

“Who exactly is Kwan?” he asked, crossing his legs, too, so that Joshua would feel as if they were on the same level. “I only just met him.”

“Well … he owns an underground fight club,” Joshua offered cautiously.

Seungcheol sent him a smile and, after a moment, he received a small and uneasy twitch of the lips in return.

“You like fighting?” he asked, and Joshua nodded slowly. “Is that to offload some of the anger or to practise for when you finally get to murder that brute who thinks he owns you?”

He knew he could never understand what Joshua had been through but he could feel the anger and the resentment hiding beneath the fear and the despair and he would be more than willing to drive a knife into that fat man’s throat if it meant he could put a stop to this.

Joshua lowered his gaze to his lap and the grip he had on his robe tightened until his knuckles turned white, “He  _ does  _ own me.”

“Hey,” Seungcheol protested, clicking his fingers to bring Joshua’s attention back to him. “This fight that you have in you … Don’t lose it. Okay? No matter what they do to you, don’t ever let it go. It’s going to save your life one day.”

Joshua let out a huff of bitter amusement, “Look at me. What is there left to fight for? Even if you’re not going to do anything, the next one will. And the next one after that and the next one after that.”

Something in the back of his head seemed to click and, suddenly, that smirk was gone and his eyes were suddenly alarmingly wide.

“Are you …?” he whispered. “Going to do anything?” 

“No,” Seungcheol said at once. “The next twelve hours is yours to do with what you want. I doubt you can leave this room but if you want to sleep then sleep. You want to shower then shower. You want me to teach you some fighting techniques then just say the word and I’ll have you on par with Bruce Lee by morning.”

Joshua was staring at him in a state of complete and utter disbelief and only then did Seungcheol realise that this was probably the first act of kindness he’d been shown since whatever horrible event had led to his enslavement.

“Is this a trick?” he murmured hoarsely, eyes zipping around the room as though expecting somebody to jump out of the shadows and wrestle him to the ground. “Are you … Are you going to tell my master that I didn’t cooperate or something?”

He was starting to panic. Seungcheol could see it, the tiny dregs of trust he’d managed to build up in the last twenty minutes draining away for good, and he did the first thing he could think of.

He got up off the bed, retreated until his back was pressed against the door and then slid down to sit on the floor, keeping his eyes on Joshua at all times so he could watch the fear being replaced by confusion.

“I’m going to stay here,” Seungcheol promised. “I won’t move for the next twelve hours if that’s what you want but I swear to you, right here, right now, that I won’t lay a finger on you for the rest of the night and I won’t say a word to that fat little ponytail pigman out there.”

Joshua chuckled. Actually chuckled. And Seungcheol couldn’t help grinning at such an unexpected and incredible sound. 

“What …” the boy started, sliding over to the edge of the bed that was closest to Seungcheol. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking … um … your name?”

“S.Coups.”

Joshua’s smile slid right off his face. 

Seriously, how did Min expect him to lay low if he told everybody he was coming?

“Don’t worry,” Seungcheol said at once. “What I promised still stands. I won’t hurt you, Joshua, and if ever you run away again, you can come and find me.”

Joshua bobbed his head, “I … I’d like a warm shower … and, uh, usually the masters who buy me can get food sent up for them … I wouldn’t mind some food.”

Seungcheol couldn’t help but smirk. The boy was bold. No matter how scared he was, he most certainly wasn’t weak.

“Go have your shower. I’ll order some food and then you can rest,” Seungcheol said, standing up and reaching for the phone on the small table near the plastic tarp.

No sooner had the words left his mouth was Joshua scampering off the bed and practically sprinting to the bathroom. For a moment, he thought he’d scared the kid off again but then he caught the giddy half smile on Joshua’s face as he threw open the door.

“Oh … and, Mr Coups? Please tell Kwan that I owe him one,” he said before disappearing inside.

While he was showering, Seungcheol managed to get a decent-sized meal delivered right to the door and, by the time Joshua emerged from the bathroom, he had set it out on the floor like some strange picnic scene.

He’d also taken his coat and draped it over the torture devices. There was absolutely no way anyone would be able to relax with those in their line of sight.

“Hungry?” he smirked when Joshua dropped to his knees in front of the food and stared at the bowls of rice and chicken and fish strewn in front of him. “Go for it.”

The boy glanced up at him again, as if to ask for permission one more time, and as soon as Seungcheol nodded, he was attacking the dishes like he hadn’t been allowed to eat in over a week.

To be honest, that probably wasn’t far from the truth.

Seungcheol couldn’t deny that he was hungry himself but, just watching Joshua zip from one plate to another as if he couldn’t decide which he wanted first, he also couldn’t bear the thought of taking even a mouthful of nourishment away from that skinny child.

So he sat back and watched with a fond smile on his face and tried not to think about the reality of this situation. 

Right now, he could give Joshua whatever he wanted so long as it was within these four walls but, once their time ran out, so did his power.

No matter what he did or what he said, that fat little ponytail guy was going to take Joshua back at the end of the night and there was nothing he could do to stop him if he didn’t want to risk starting some kind of altercation.

“You’re not like your dad,” Joshua said suddenly, his words muffled through a mouthful of something tasty. “You’re … You’re good. I didn’t think you people could be good but … you’re good.”

“So are you,” Seungcheol shot back. “You don’t deserve this.”

Joshua smirked, “You know nothing about me. How would you be able to determine what I do and don’t deserve?”

Seungcheol didn’t reply. He didn’t tell that boy that he’d spent his entire life training himself to see through the hardened exteriors people put up around themselves in order to prevent their trauma from seeing the light.

He didn’t tell him that it was all in the eyes. That he could tell when somebody had killed and whether they’d liked it just by watching the way they moved. Joshua didn’t need to know that. Joshua didn’t need to know that Seungcheol could see the scars that nobody else could.

“Get some rest,” he said once the plates had all been licked clean. “I’ll stay right here until you wake up.”

Joshua dipped his head in a half bow of gratitude and readied himself to stand up before pausing. For a moment, he seemed to be fighting some kind of internal battle, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish until finally making his choice.

“You know …” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact and picking nervously at the sleeve of his robe. “This is usually what people say to me after one of these auctions but … uh … This was the best night of my life. Thank you.”

Seungcheol didn’t know how to respond to that.


	3. Make An Entrance

Joshua remained in Seungcheol’s head without relent for the following three days. He couldn’t shake the memory of the fear in those eyes or the defensive walls built up after years and years of conditioning and abuse.

The worst part was that he didn’t know if he regretted what he’d done.

On the one hand, he’d saved Joshua from a night of endless torture and given him a meal he otherwise would never have been treated to, but, on the other, he’d made it a billion times harder for the kid to accept that the first person to show him kindness was just going to walk away by morning. 

To take his mind off the guilt he felt for leaving that boy in that place with that man, Seungcheol busied himself with various mundane tasks, all of which were exceedingly boring yet necessary for somebody who’d just relocated.

He began to clean out the two buildings he’d purchased, one of which was large and labyrinthine enough to work as a base while the other was smaller and not nearly as well hidden from the passing public eye.

The feeling of freedom was liberating. Nobody breathing down his neck, nobody scrutinising him with disapproving glares, nobody watching his every move in the hope that he would make a mistake or cause a controversy. 

But he missed his mother and when he could find the time to call her, she wouldn’t pick up the phone. He walked the maze of hallways in his new establishment and felt the emptiness almost as strongly as he felt the loneliness.

He’d failed in his mission to form any personal or business relationships at that auction and, as a result, he found himself craving human contact. All his friends were back in Daegu, training day and night in the hopes to one day follow in his footsteps. Somebody to talk to, laugh with, joke with. Maybe even fight with.

Whoever said to be careful what you wish for was a very wise person.

It was approximately 10pm when it happened. Seungcheol had spent the day turning the smaller of his two buildings into a suitable bar complete with rows upon rows of alcoholic beverages, one of which he couldn’t help but crack open for himself.

With a little refurbishment and some fancy decoration, he could set up some pretty decent business here. It would be a good source of income while he worked to locate the culprit behind the missing drug shipments.

The cork burst from the mouth of the bottle with a satisfying popping noise and Seungcheol knocked back his head to take a generous swig, relishing in the burning sensation that slowly trickled down his gullet.

From where he was perched on the bar counter, he could see that the room could use a few more stools, maybe a pool table and a television in the corner on which the customers could watch whatever sporting event was being broadcasted at the time.

The door swung open, a biting gust of wind sweeping its way through the air, and Seungcheol glanced up over the frosted glass of his beer bottle to see a tall, lean figure striding into the room.

He was wearing what Seungcheol would perceive to be battle gear: heavy black boots, cargo pants, and a tight-fitting turtleneck that showed off the sheer lack of muscle mass. A baseball cap and face mask concealed most of his face from view but his eyes were visible enough.

And filled with hatred.

“Choi Seungcheol.”

It wasn’t a question. It was more of a statement. Or a threat. Admit that this is your name or else.

Seungcheol calmly lowered his beer and set it on the counter beside him, regarding the figure before him with his head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He had a very heavy accent and his pronunciation was wildly off. If Seungcheol had to guess, he would say he was Chinese.

“That would be me.”

There was no point denying it. This person clearly knew who he was, and not just his codename either. His real name. Therefore, his identity and, most likely, who he was related to.

Possibilities were already racing through his mind. This could be an attempted abduction so a ransom could be demanded of his father. Maybe it was a revenge kill for some terrible deed his clan had committed. Or maybe it was the drug thief coming to eradicate the threat to his business.

Either way, Seungcheol was just a little insulted that they thought one man would be enough to take him down.

“Find a weapon,” the intruder barked, striding towards the centre of the room and pulling what looked like a sword from the sheath strapped to his back. “One of us die here tonight.”

Who carried a fucking sword in this day and age?

More than a little bemused, Seungcheol choked out a laugh but obediently jumped down from the counter, set his gun aside and drew his knife from his belt. Even if he had no idea what this was about, he wasn’t going to shoot the guy when his weapon of choice was obviously a katana, for some reason.

“Now that’s how you make an entrance,” he congratulated, shrugging off his jacket and twirling the blade between his fingers. “I’m impressed.”

“Shut up,” his challenger snapped as he ripped off his cap and mask and discarded them on the floor. “I did not say you could speak. Who say you could speak? This is fight to the death. No forfeits, no mercy. I kill you or you kill me.” 

He couldn’t have been any older than sixteen.

“May I ask why?” Seungcheol countered as he and his opponent circled each other in the centre of the room. “I feel like I should at least be granted the courtesy of knowing the reason why I have to slaughter a teenager tonight.”

The kid didn’t even bat an eyelid and Seungcheol had to admit that he was astounded by the bravery being paraded in front of him. This boy knew who he was and where he’d come from and, therefore, he must know that this was not going to be an easy fight.

Either he was arrogant as hell or just plain stupid. 

“You kill my family,” came the hateful hiss in reply. “My mother, my father, my brother and my baby sister.”

Seungcheol faltered mid-step and the swordsman mirrored him, clearly unfazed by the confusion that suddenly dawned on his supposed victim’s face.

“I think you have the wrong person,” Seungcheol said slowly. “I tend to remember the people I kill and I’ve never touched a woman or a child.”

He’d never been to China either and that was where he was fairly certain this boy was from if his accent and distinctive facial features were anything to go by. His words sounded rehearsed, too. As if he’d practised them in front of his bedroom mirror.

“You’ve made a mistake. I suggest you walk away from this before you do something you’ll regret.”

He didn’t want to hurt him. He was still a kid and Seungcheol had been telling the truth when he said he’d never laid a finger on anybody under the age of eighteen. He didn’t want to change that now just because some boy had mistaken him for somebody else.

The roar of fury that blasted through the silence was what told him that maybe that wasn’t going to be an option.

“Then you lie as well as murder!” came the broken scream before a sword was being aimed at his head.

Seungcheol sidestepped with ease but the kid recovered at an astonishing pace, whipping around and slashing the blade through the air with a speed Seungcheol almost lost to. He only just ducked in time and, even then, he heard the  _ whoosh  _ passing right over his head.

The boy had been trained, probably by himself, but trained nonetheless. He was quick, agile and extremely skilled but also paralysed with vengeance. That was the weakness Seungcheol was going to have to latch onto if he was going to defeat him.

The sword came hurtling towards his head once more and, this time, he parried the blow with the blade of his knife and deflected it off to the side, causing the kid to stumble as he was thrown off balance.

Seungcheol kicked out, catching his enemy in the knee while he was at his most vulnerable and sending him crashing backwards onto the ground with a grunt of pain and frustration. He kept a firm grip on his sword, however, and for that, Seungcheol was impressed.

If the boy wasn’t so goddamn emotional, he would have made a worthy opponent.

He gave him a moment to recover and scramble up from the floor since killing a man while he was down was certainly not in the code of honour, and was forced to jump at least three feet in the air to avoid the blade that suddenly came at his knees.

The kid spun along with his weapon, rotating like a top on the ball of one foot before swinging his opposite leg up until it was level with Seungcheol’s nose. He felt the air sweeping past his face at the proximity with which that foot came to hitting him.

Deciding that enough was enough, he sprang backwards to give himself some room, waited until the boy straightened up and then slammed his shoulder into that, frankly, worryingly skinny body.

One of his hands seized the hilt of the sword, pushing it out to the side so it was as far away from him as possible and the other looped around his attacker’s waist. He hooked his leg around both of the kid’s and pulled, sending the both of them crashing to the ground.

Seungcheol landed on top, staring down at the wide, frightened eyes beneath him as he sent the katana skittering away towards the wall and embedded his knife in the floor just a few millimetres from the loser’s ear.

“That’s enough!” he shouted, leaving the blade to wobble threateningly in its place. “That could have been your throat! Don’t make me gut you over a misunderstanding!”

He saw fear turning swiftly to anger, the bar filled with the sound of their ragged gasps, and he got to his feet so he could tower over the breathless body still lying flat against the newly-polished floors. 

“I didn’t kill your family,” he spat as he turned on his heel and reached for the abandoned beer bottle on the counter. “And I don’t want to kill you.”

The urge to roll his eyes was too strong to resist as he heard the scramble of limbs trying to regain vertical status and the unmistakable sound of a knife being wrenched out of a wooden surface.

Clearly, the kid did not know when to give up.

Predicting the next move as perfectly as his training had taught him, Seungcheol dropped into a crouching position on the floor just in time to avoid his own blade before it drilled itself into the wall above him.

“That could have been your back!” came the threatening snarl from behind.

Seungcheol let out an exasperated sigh as he stood up and turned around, folding his arms over his chest and regarding the boy before him with an air of a disapproving parent facing a petulant child.

“What’s your name?”

There was no reply, just more heavy breathing and a pair of eyes narrowed into slits.

“Come on, you know mine so why can’t I know yours? Besides, if one of us is going to die here then what’s the harm in telling me?”

A pause. A sharp inhale. A carefully calculated decision and then a rumbling growl that was clearly supposed to sound intimidating but, if Seungcheol was being honest, was really just cute.

“Xu Minghao.”

Definitely Chinese then. It wasn’t a name that Seungcheol recognised as one his clan had targeted but, then again, he’d never taken the greatest care to memorise all the people his father and his father’s men had slaughtered.

It was possible that the Chois had been responsible for this kid’s tragedy but Seungcheol doubted it. There was a code among clans: kill a woman only when you have no other choice and never harm a child.

“Well, Minghao, I can’t speak for my family but I can assure you that I am not the man you’re looking for. I’ve never even been to China so I’m deeply sorry for your loss but you have the wrong person so, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get back to my booze.”

He didn’t turn his back on him again. The boy was clearly grief-stricken and driven mad with thoughts of revenge and Seungcheol knew from experience that those two things could prove to be a deadly combination.

“You lie …”

“I’m not lying,” he insisted, sucking in a breath through his teeth in an attempt to keep himself as calm as possible. “If I had killed your family, I would own up to it. A real man never denies his sins.”

Minghao was shaking now, more violently than he had been before, and Seungcheol was only half surprised to see a tear splashing onto his cheek. He was so, so young. And, by the sound of it, he was all alone in the world.

“Come here,” he sighed, moving back towards the bar and hopping up onto the counter so he could pat the spot beside him. “Have a drink with me.”

The look of bewilderment he got in return was almost enough to get him laughing but, instead, he just raised the half-emptied bottle and gave a beckoning motion with his fingers.

“You look like you could use one.”

For a moment, Minghao didn’t move, eyes shifting suspiciously from the bottle in his companion’s hand to the door as if he wasn’t quite sure whether or not he should make a run for it, but then he seemed to give up on his internal struggle.

Shoulders sagging ever so slightly, fingers raking through his hair, he sidled over to the counter and used his twig-like arms to pull himself up beside Seungcheol. He scanned the label on the bottle that was handed to him but it was fairly obvious that he couldn’t understand what it said.

“How old are you?” Seungcheol asked him.

“Sixteen tomorrow.”

Jesus. One hell of a birthday excursion. It had Seungcheol wondering whether Minghao had truly come here to avenge his family’s murder or just to get himself killed before he had to face what was probably his first birthday without them.

As if to prove his point, the kid brought the bottle to his lips and emptied it in one, Adam’s apple bobbing comically with the effort of swallowing the sharp tangy burst of flavour that attacked his taste buds.

This was definitely somebody who had given up on living.

“Tell me what happened,” Seungcheol said, watching that horribly young face and the tears that started to drip from the tip of its nose. “To your family. Tell me what happened.”

Minghao drew in a shuddering breath that had Seungcheol resisting the urge to pull him into a protective and comforting embrace before he opened his mouth and started to talk.

His sentences were broken and he took long pauses between words, trying to find the correct translation for what he was trying to say, but Seungcheol waited as quietly and as patiently as he could. The kid deserved a chance to explain himself.

“I live in Beijing. Small town. We … very poor. I … work for money to … feed us. But then I come home and there … people in my house. Korean. I … I recog … recog …”

“Recognise?” Seungcheol offered softly.

“Yes. I recognise language as Korean. They said they looking for soldiers. People to fight for them in Seoul. Boys. Young. Healthy.”

Seungcheol nodded his head. He’d heard about this. Rookie terrorist groups and drug cartels invading small, financially disadvantaged towns and picking out the young men they perceived to be worthy of their organisation.

And Seungcheol knew what happened next.

“I try to … fight,” Minghao continued, his hands shaking in his lap and his watering eyes fixed on his feet as they swung lifelessly over the edge of the counter. “I try to protect my family but … too many. Stronger. Scarier. They say they want to take me. Make me go with them to Korea and … train to be soldier.”

Of course, they would. The kid’s fighting skills were unparalleled. If he’d tried to defend his home with that sword and those techniques, he would have done nothing other than prove himself to be exactly the kind of person those bastards were looking for.

“My brother … sick. Asthma. They not want him. My father … old. They say useless. My mother … my baby sister … useless. They … they cut their throats and make me watch. Then they take me. Set my house on fire. My family … left to burn.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes, his hands curling into fists on top of his thighs. He had seen death. He had been the cause of it, too, but he could never even begin to imagine the pain and helplessness that would come with witnessing the execution of his entire family.

“What made you think it was me?” he asked once Minghao’s sniffles had died down just a little. “What made you come all the way here to find me?”

“They say your name,” came the shaky reply and Seungcheol felt his brows knitting together in confusion. “They say ‘Choi Wonbin and his nephew will like this’. They say they do this for you: Choi Seungcheol.”

Well, that was unsettling.

Seungcheol knew the ins and outs of his entire organisation. He could list every single person within their ranks, could rattle off every mission that had been carried out within his life time that wasn’t a recon run or a drug trade. If his father had ordered something as twisted as this, he most certainly would have remembered it.

That meant one of two things: either his father and his uncle had kept this from him or somebody else was planning an attack on the Choi clan. Neither of those options were particularly appealing.

It seemed there were now two things Seungcheol needed to uncover before he could report his findings back to the higher ups.

There was no way he could do that alone.

“Hey, Minghao,” he murmured, giving the skeletal body a careful nudge. “I can help you find the people who killed your family.”

The boy’s eyes widened to the size of saucers as he let out a broken and rattling, “Really?”

“Yes,” Seungcheol promised, making sure to lock their gazes so the kid knew he was being serious. “But I’m looking for something, too. Now if you help me then I’ll help you. I can also give you a place to stay. From the looks of you, you haven’t eaten or slept in a while, have you?”

Minghao shook his head.

“I can protect you,” Seungcheol continued before hastening to add, “I know you can protect yourself but it’s dangerous out here. There are bad people, Minghao. Really, really bad people. People who would kill you just for looking at them the wrong way.”

He thought of Joshua. And then he pushed the thought aside.

“What do you say? Will you help me?”

“Yes,” came the virtually instantaneous reply. “I will help you.”

He stuck out a spindly hand and Seungcheol took it, gripped it and shook it, unable to help the grin from splitting his face clean in two.


	4. Trust And Alliance

Seungcheol didn’t know exactly how he was going to help Minghao – or The8, the codename he’d used when travelling to Korea. 

His only lead was his uncle and, frankly, if he called him without anything worth reporting, there would be hell to pay. Plus, there were no contacts here in Seoul, a particular fact which made him far more anxious than he was prepared to admit.

There were a couple of other events lined up that he’d planned on attending – fight clubs, drug rings, even flesh trades – but now he had a teenager on his hands. A skittish, emotional, trigger – or rather sword – happy teenager who spoke only in broken syllables, drank too much and tended to be irritated 80% of the time.

Within the comfort of the reinforced walls the base provided, Seungcheol felt nothing but endeared by the boy but taking him anywhere public was proving to be a problem, especially considering the fucking sword he refused to remove from his back.

Surprisingly, though, the boy was a lot more patient than Seungcheol thought he’d be. By day two, Seungcheol himself was already getting worked up over having no leads but Minghao stayed calm and close, hanging on his new friend’s every word and doing everything he asked without question.

On the upside, within a week, they had a fully-functional bar. They couldn’t exactly open it yet, there was no way of getting the licenses and workers they’d need, but Seungcheol was glad it was finished nonetheless. 

He was at the base, checking emails on his iPad roughly a fortnight later when Minghao stormed in, practically bringing the thunderclouds with him from outside as he silently seethed beneath his low-rimmed bucket hat.

The heavy doors reverberated off the wall, their assailant stomping across the floor and depositing the grocery bags Seungcheol had sent him out for in the corner. Immediately afterwards, he made a beeline for the training room and came back with his sword already sheathed and ready.

“Um … What’s going on?” Seungcheol asked carefully.

“He insult me,” the boy hissed without halting in his powerful stride towards the front door. “He pay with his life.”

Seungcheol leapt up from his chair, abandoning his iPad on the table and hastening to follow.

“Maybe if you’re going to carry out executions … use a gun?”

There was no reply and that was when Seungcheol knew for certain that this kid was going to become one of his favourite people on Earth.

The two of them tore up the earth between them and the car that Minghao was most definitely too young to drive, but Seungcheol said nothing as he hurriedly locked the door behind him and followed. He’d barely got his second leg in when the kid was shifting gears and speeding out of the driveway.

Honestly, Seungcheol should have been afraid for his life as they hurtled through the streets at breakneck speed but, somehow, the anger radiating off the boy’s body reminded him of some of the younger trainees back home.

For all he knew, the ‘insult’ Minghao was referring to could have been a complete misunderstanding. It wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before.

They swerved around two more corners before the car screeched to a stop in a shopping mall garage and Minghao was practically throwing himself out of the vehicle without turning off the engine. Seungcheol just chuckled, leaning over to retrieve the key before following.

A group of boys were smoking in the back of a pickup, laughing and nudging each other without the slightest inclination of how quickly the threat was approaching.

At some point, Seungcheol would have to sit Minghao down and explain to him why he couldn’t solve all his problems with duels to the death. Life wasn’t a swashbuckling Indiana Jones movie.

He paused a few yards off, perfectly within range to step in if things got out of hand, but far enough away that he could still go undetected from where he was concealed behind a parked car.

He hadn’t been able to see it when he’d first met Minghao because … well, because he’d been fighting for his life, but now, watching him in action, Seungcheol realised that he may have grossly underestimated the kid.

The sword was still belted to his back, almost like he had no intentions of using it, and he was quick on his feet, light and agile. He hopped up onto the front of the truck so softly that it didn’t even dip, and his hands were around the nearest boy’s throat before they even saw him coming.

He was fast. Much faster than Seungcheol had originally perceived.

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye had him drawing his gun in a flash and he felt an icy chill creeping up his spine as he realised they were surrounded by at least five people.

There were two on either side of them and he could sense one behind him if the prickling of his neck was anything to go by. Alone, he could take them easily but Minghao was vulnerable and exposed without cover.

The kid had managed to take down two of the guys who’d been slouched in the tray of the truck but there were still three left, plus the others that had seemed to melt out of the darkness like shadows.

Fuck Seoul.

“Stand your man down, Coups!” somebody shouted from the left, their booming voice echoing off the concrete walls.

Honestly, Seungcheol would have been more proud of the fact that so many people knew who he was if it wasn’t so goddamn inconvenient all the time.

“The8,” he snapped obediently. “Stand down.”

Minghao released the spluttering boy from his potentially lethal chokehold and leapt down from the truck, finally unsheathing his sword once he’d processed just how many guns were trained on his body.

His temper was a real problem that they were going to have to address sooner rather than later.

“That’s not exactly standing down, Coups,” the same voice warned.

“Well …” Seungcheol shrugged in response.

There wasn't much he could do to control Minghao when he was like this. The kid was hypervigilant and driven by emotion. The idea of spilling blood was probably his way of dealing with the trauma that plagued his every moment, both conscious and not. 

The surrounding gunmen finally stepped into the light. Six of them. Seungcheol hadn’t spotted the one that had come from the other side of the truck.

“Kihyun, check the tray,” the guy who seemed to be the leader instructed.

He was taller than Seungcheol by a few inches with a stern face and a hulking form whereas the boy he’d sent to check over Minghao’s victims was almost laughable by comparison in the sheer smallness of his stature and the mousy aspect to his features and movements.

He practically skipped up to the truck and had to brace his hands on the edge of the tray, jumping up and down several times before he could confirm the information his leader had demanded.

“None of them are dead, Nunu,” he shot over his shoulder.

Seungcheol raised his eyebrows, watching with amusement as ‘Nunu’ pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh of exasperation. The other guys around them were all suppressing chuckles.

“Kihyun, we’ve talked about this.”

“Oh …” the boy sputtered, but the loopy smile on his face did not slip. “Shit … Right, boss.”

The rest of the group giggled again and Seungcheol felt his eyes widen. If it weren’t for the guns in their hands and the knives on their belts, they might have been mistaken for a bunch of high schoolers. Some of them certainly looked young enough.

‘Nunu’ let out another sigh before pocketing his gun, stepping up to Seungcheol and stretching out his hand.

It was a very unexpected response and Seungcheol arched one eyebrow in question even as he reached out to complete the greeting. 

“Allow me to introduce myself and my team,” his new acquaintance started. “I’m Shownu. That’s Wonho, Jooheon, Kihyun, and over there’s Minhyuk and Hyungwon.” 

So, apparently, they weren't going to fight each other and, for that, Seungcheol was glad. Even if Shownu and Wonho’s sheer size and percentage of muscle mass weren’t enough to convince him that it would be one hell of a battle, Kihyun scared him. It was always the quiet ones.

Always.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked cautiously.

“We’ve been looking for you,” came the slightly unsettling response. “We heard you could use some help.” 

Trust worked differently in this world. Out there, in the mundane life, if somebody offered help then it was taken, no questions asked, ‘thank you’ given. But for them, there was almost always an alternative motive that came with an offer of assistance.

That was why Seungcheol narrowed his eyes and steeled his shoulders, drawing himself up to his full height as he regarded the person before him with the deepest suspicion and said, “And why would you want to help me? As far as I know, we’ve never met before.”

“We haven’t,” Shownu confirmed. “But I have eyes and ears. I have sources. I know what you did at that auction.”

Seungcheol drew in a breath through his nose and gave his chin a jerk. His eyes wandered the space, scanning each of the faces he could see in an attempt to identify one he could remember from that night.

“And what did I do?” he questioned accusatively, wary of revealing any of the information Joshua had disclosed to him in order to protect his identity.

Shownu smirked, as though he could read Seungcheol’s mind, “Joshua’s a fighter. Every time he’s sold off for the night, he resists until he can’t resist anymore. And then he gets punished the next morning. It’s a torturous existence but, because of you, he got to escape that for one night. I’ve never heard of a Choi doing such a thing.”

So they knew. And they knew a lot. Did that mean one or more of them was in contact with Joshua? Or maybe with the man who was exploiting him? Either way, they were definitely aware of what had happened in that hall and then in that bedroom.

“We have reps who attend those events,” Shownu clarified, once again tuning into Seungcheol’s thoughts perfectly. “Sometimes we can save a couple. Sometimes we can’t. Joshua’s been on our radar for a few years now. One of my guys used to be in the same situation and he says ‘thank you’, by the way. On behalf of Joshua.”

That made a little more sense.

But a few years? That was so much longer than Seungcheol originally thought. That meant Joshua had probably been wrestled up onto that stage since the age of fifteen. How disgusting could one person be?

“The8, come here.”

He wasn’t sure exactly why he suddenly needed Minghao at his side. Maybe it was the shivers running down his spine at the thought of the evils in the world or just the fact that the kid had begun to look like he was going to start swinging.

But as soon as he had that presence near him, as soon as he had his fingers wrapped around that stick-like wrist, he felt a little bit calmer and a little bit safer and a little more inclined to continue this conversation.

“So you know who I am – which, by the way, isn’t that big of an accomplishment seeing as everybody seems to know who I am – and you know where I’ve been and what I’ve done. I presume, since you know so much, that you also know why I’m in Seoul.”

Shownu winked, “Give the Choi a gold star.”

“And you say you can help me.”

“I can.”

“Why? What do you want from me in return?”

“Trust,” came the immediate reply. “Your clan is a powerful one. If they wanted to, they could wipe out my entire unit, and I can’t let that happen.”

There was a different edge to his voice now. Sterner. Stronger. Almost like a threat, and Seungcheol instantly recognised the traits of a leader. The instincts of a protector. It was a feeling he himself wanted to experience: fighting alongside people he could trust with his life.

“So I want trust,” Shownu repeated. “I want confirmation that my guys won’t be harmed by yours. If one of my kids crosses you, I want to know that you’ll come for me. Not for him. I want to know that we can communicate with each other, that, if there’s a threat, we can warn each other and, maybe, that we can protect each other.”

Seungcheol understood now. This gang was making the first move, extending the peace treaty before war could be declared. This man in front of him knew about the serial killer who’d just moved in next door and he was doing what he could to protect his people – his ‘kids’, as he’d called them.

Minghao’s arm twitched in his grip as he shuffled, clearly uncomfortable with being unable to understand everything that was going on due to the language barrier he was still combating, and Seungcheol knew he felt the same way about him.

“How do I know I can trust you?”

Another smirk.

“You don’t. But I think it’s fair to say that your guy pissed me off tonight.”

Seungcheol tightened his grip on Minghao and shuffled a couple of inches to the side so that their shoulders were overlapping and he was in front.

“But, as you can see,” Shownu continued, smirking slightly at his companion’s display of protectiveness. “He’s still breathing. And trust me when I say, Coups, that’s not usually how I treat the people who attack me.”

It took a moment. Of thought. Of consideration. Of hesitation. Of glancing over his shoulder to where Minghao was staring back at him, eyes wide, sword still gripped in his free hand, completely and utterly trusting of whatever his leader decided to do.

As of now, the two of them were alone in this universe. They had no protection other than each other. They had no support other than each other. If something happened, if they were attacked by more than they could handle, there would be nobody to call in to help.

Seungcheol was okay with going it alone. But he wasn’t alone anymore. He had Minghao. And he wasn’t at all confident in his own abilities to keep that child safe without staying by his side day and night.

He needed this alliance.

“Okay,” he agreed at last, turning once more to face his new acquaintance. “What can you tell me?” 

\--------------------

Seoul’s underworld was ridiculous. It lacked both order and structure. 

There was nobody truly in charge. No hierarchy to follow. Just little gangs scattered here and there, causing trouble, fighting each other and just generally not getting along particularly well. That was how Seungcheol knew Shownu was smart. Opportunistic but smart.

That guy knew who he was, where he came from, why he was here and he also knew enough about the order of things in Daegu to know that, as long as a Choi was here, Seoul would start cleaning up fast.

Seungcheol was optimistic about his ability to take over but he knew it would be a lengthy process. He’d have to finish assembling a team, flush out and eradicate all the pests and get the bigger organisations on his side.

He’d need more people containing and controlling the imports, the drug rings, the flesh sales, the pimps … There was a lot that needed to be done and he had already been in the city too long to not have at least a few people in his employ. Too long to be partnered with only Minghao.

It wasn’t that the kid wasn’t useful or skilled, because he was. Seungcheol just wished he had help training him to control his emotions and learn to pick which battles were worth fighting and which ones weren’t.

He hated that, for all his talk and suspicion, he and Shownu both knew that he needed the help, so he had to accept. He had to follow as Shownu took him back to his base – a ridiculous little flower shop of all things – and he had to sit and have tea with Kihyun whose smile still frayed his nerves.

He set his tea down after the first sip. He was familiar with most poisons and the brew neither tasted nor smelt funny, but he would rather keep his wits about him. Minghao had no such qualms as he munched happily on the sandwiches and gulped down his tea.

“I think I know someone who can help with your immediate situation,” Jooheon said, plopping himself down next to Kihyun.

The setup of the ‘chop shop’, as they called it, resembled a café. There were two couches facing each other, a table between them and a large display window on their left, giving them the clearest view of the street outside.

Every surface was covered by some sort of plant or flower, the floral scent overpowering almost everything else. Seungcheol didn’t realise how brilliant and necessary an idea it was until he was informed that, through the back doors and down exactly twelve stairs, were the rotting bodies of a drug trade gone wrong from two nights previously.

Shownu’s team played support. They cleared up the corpses, they provided guns and services, they knew just about everyone and everything and now – or soon – Seungcheol would be privy to all of that.

“And just what do you think is my immediate situation?” he asked, fondly eyeing the way Minghao’s cheeks bulged with bread.

Jooheon held up his phone and waved it pointlessly, “IM told me you bought a city building. It’s in a club district, lots of night life. You’ve also got a shit tonne of alcohol, glasses, stools, a sound system …”

He seemed to be reading off some sort of information source on his screen that had more than likely been provided by IM. Seungcheol was yet to meet the youngest member of this tightknit group but, from what he knew, IM was the chop shop’s resident hacker.

“You’re opening a bar,” Jooheon concluded simply. “And there’s no way you can get a license overnight. I know a guy who can help with that.” 

That … was definitely not Seungcheol’s immediate problem.

When Shownu had said he could help, this wasn’t what he’d had in mind, and his disappointment must have shown on his face because Kihyun gave an exasperated sigh and leant back in his chair, arms folded disapprovingly over his chest.

“We know it’s not the information you were looking for but you’re going to need a source of income if you want to keep the samurai fed.”

Seungcheol glanced over at Minghao whose sword was laid across his lap and couldn’t help the dry chuckle that left his throat. For somebody as skinny as that kid was, he certainly did have an appetite. It had Seungcheol wondering how many times he’d had to go without food back in China.

“Get yourself in a comfortable position,” Kihyun continued. “Financially, emotionally, physically. Then start worrying about what you’re here to do.”

He was right. And he knew it, too.

Letting out a sigh, Seungcheol spread his hands, “Okay. I’m listening.”


	5. King Of The Riff Raff

“You need to learn how to use a gun,” Seungcheol observed with a roll of his eyes as he watched Minghao clambering out of the car and adjusting the strap of his sword.

The kid paused, processing the words and translating them inside his head before frowning, “What problem with sword? Kill just as good.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

“What do you have that’s long distance?” Seungcheol asked him, an exasperated yet endeared smile stretching his facial muscles. “And small? Walking into every situation with a fucking katana makes you look more than a little intimidating.”

He knew the kid didn’t really need anything else. He’d witnessed first-hand just how quickly and quietly he moved. He could take somebody’s head off without much issue at all, but there would be times in the future when he’d need a weapon that could kill at long range.

Minghao produced something wooden and polished from the pouch that hung from the side of his sheath. Seungcheol had always secretly wondered what was in there, but now he wished he hadn’t.

“It have poison,” Minghao grinned proudly, brandishing the blow dart he held between his bony fingers.

“You’re kidding.”

The kid frowned again, “No.”

Seungcheol scrubbed a frustrated hand over his face, “Okay, what about knives? Take a knife, leave the sword … and um … the blow dart.”

Minghao gave a disappointed sigh but tossed the sword into the back of the car anyway, extracting a couple of throwing knives from the pouch before slamming the door shut.

He sulked – childishly, adorably – as they made their way up the hill towards the huge, hulking abandoned railway bridge that looked at least two hundred years old with its brickwork crumbling and its surface ensnared with overgrown vines.

The contact they’d been sent to find was apparently expecting them. Jooheon had called him Hoshi, King of the Riff Raff and now Seungcheol could see why.

At first glance, the underside of the bridge looked like a little peasant village from a medieval movie. Tarp tents, people huddled and bundled up around barrels of fire, sickly-sounding coughs from here and there, some cursing, some wheezing, but among all of that were the hardened ones.

Their eyes were clear and sharp even as they pretended to be slumped in corners, wrapped up in their ratty blankets, stern faces just about visible beneath layers of grime and dirt.

The deeper Seungcheol and Minghao walked into the cave, the easier it was to see the people starting to rise from their spots and close in around them. They tightened their circle until there was no way out, guiding them exactly where they wanted them to go. 

Good. If they were taking them to their leader, that was exactly where they needed to be.

At what looked like the centre of the underpass was another burning oil barrel, a wooden bench and a few mismatched seats made from dismembered logs and rusted iron. Several sheets of galvanize fenced off the rest of the tunnel and the circle of dirt-crusted men came to a stop at the dead end.

“You must be S.Coups,” a voice called from the shadows and, again, Seungcheol found himself rolling his eyes.

A blessing and a curse.

“And you must be Hoshi,” he shot back, glancing to his right to see a boy – an honest-to-god boy, probably a year or two younger than Seungcheol himself – emerging from where he must have been crouching behind two barrels.

Just barely visible, peeping out of hiding, was what Seungcheol could only assume was an alarmingly young child. The only feature of him in sight were his eyes but they were wide and frightened, too inexperienced and innocent to have to survive in a place like this.

“Guilty,” Hoshi mused, crossing his arms and nodding.

He wasn’t very tall. Not very large either. His hair was a bit overgrown and he looked generally unkept but not malnourished. His teeth were large, his eyes small and slanted almost comically.

He didn’t look like much of a threat but Seungcheol didn’t miss the malformation of his knuckles and the scars that crisscrossed the backs of his hands. His movements were calculated, glances assessing. Only a fool would underestimate him.

There was a long stretch of silence in which nobody said anything, nobody moved and it felt like nobody even breathed. Anxiety was radiating off Minghao’s body in waves and Seungcheol himself couldn’t help but swallow the phlegm that had started to build in the back of his throat.

If these people wanted to, they could beat them to death in a matter of moments and there was very little they would be able to do about it.

Suddenly remembering the code word Jooheon had given him, he tossed it out into the musty air before the silence could drive him insane or convince Minghao that now was the time to attack.

“Jooheon says ‘baksu’.”

Hoshi’s chin lifted ever so slightly, already-narrowed eyes narrowing even further, before his entire posture seemed to deflate and he flung his arms up in a gesture of exasperated defeat.

“It was one time!” he whined, catching Seungcheol completely off guard with the sudden change of temperament. “Let me guess. Did he say it like this?”

He sucked a huge breath in through his nose, puffed out his chest and practically growled out the word Seungcheol had given him, putting as much aggression and power behind the syllables as he possibly could.

“BAKSU!”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol confirmed carefully, still unsure what to make of the situation. “He said it like that.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Hoshi muttered under his breath. “I’m actually gonna kill him. With fire. Or marmite. He hates marmite.”

He seemed to have forgotten where he was and what was happening but, as soon as he came back to reality, a slightly sheepish smile stretched his eyes even thinner as he gestured towards the makeshift seats surrounding the fire.

“Sit, sit,” he encouraged, plonking himself down on the opposite side of them. “Tell me what you need and maybe we can discuss a deal.”

Seungcheol could feel Minghao tense beside him, fingers itching to reach for his knives and eyes darting wildly around the darkness. Any moment now, he could lose control and start throwing blades left and right.

“Please stand your men down,” Seungcheol requested politely, reluctant to have to kill a bunch of homeless people just because his adoptive kid couldn’t keep a handle on himself. “The8’s easily agitated.” 

Hoshi’s eyes zipped to the side and, with a twitch of his chin, the threatening circle retreated a couple of steps. It did very little to calm Minghao but he did agree to perch precariously on the edge of a rusted chair, shoulders hunched protectively and senses on the highest alert.

“I ask for your understanding,” Hoshi said at the sight of the kid’s distress, propping his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands in front of him. “We can’t be too careful. There are children here.”

“I do understand,” Seungcheol agreed truthfully. “But I give you my word that we are not here to cause you or your people any harm.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth, there was a scuffle from behind those barrels and the boy – he couldn’t have been more than four – scuttled nervously over the floor, a tiny fist tugging on Hoshi’s jacket sleeve.

“Hi there, monkey,” Hoshi cooed softly, lifting the child onto his lap and handing him his own scarf to play with before glancing back up at his visitors. “Now, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Seungcheol was momentarily distracted by the sheer cuteness of the kid and the horror he felt at seeing somebody so pure and tiny surrounded by so much misery, poverty and potential diseases.

“Jooheon said you could help us license the bar we’re trying to set up,” he relayed once he’d come back to himself. “I’m in the city to track down a series of missing drug shipments and I need to be able to get a decent business up and running in order to support that. I was told you were the person to go to.”

“I am,” Hoshi chirped matter-of-factly, bouncing the boy up and down on his lap and grinning at the squeals of joy he elicited. “I can get the papers to you by morning, but I’m going to need something in return.”

The elation Seungcheol felt was quickly tarnished by suspicion. He hadn’t expected to get anything for free but, still, the insinuation that he may have to sacrifice something he needed was enough to put him on edge.

“And what would that be?”

Hoshi squinted up at him through the darkness, face barely illuminated by the flicker of the flames in the oil barrel. Although there was kindness there, and happiness spurred on by the little boy’s sudden desire to grab hold of his nose, there was also worry. A great deal of it.

“Food,” he said at last. “Basic medical equipment, too. Antibiotics, bandages, maybe a suture kit if you can. A couple of extra blankets wouldn’t go amiss either. The winter’s coming and there’s only so much I can do to reduce the number of people who aren’t going to make it.”

Of course. These people would have no healthcare insurance, no jobs, no way of funding their own survival and, as the temperature gradually decreased with each passing day, those who were young, old or already sick weren’t going to stand a chance.

That child on Hoshi’s lap wasn’t going to stand a chance.

“Done,” Seungcheol confirmed at once. “Make me a list. Whatever you need, you’ll get it.”

Hoshi nodded solemnly, “I appreciate that. Every year’s like a reaping after the world stops caring about you. I’ve watched people – friends – slowly die from an infection they could otherwise have treated with a couple of pills. I’ve woken up to find the person I fell asleep next to didn’t survive the night. Don’t ever take your money for granted, Coups.”

Seungcheol wished he could do more than provide a couple of extra layers of heat and a few cans of beans. He wished he could set every single one of these people up with a room for the night. Longer for the children.

And that was when he decided.

“Help me,” he blurted out, drawing Hoshi’s attention away from the tiny little finger that was prodding at his cheek. “Kihyun said that you know people, that you can get pretty much anything. Could you find the drugs I’m looking for? If you wanted to?”

“Almost definitely.”

“And what about people? If I told you that there’s an organisation targeting financially disadvantaged families, abducting the sons and murdering the witnesses all for some sick kind of recruitment process, would you be able to find out who?”

Minghao flinched and Seungcheol’s hand crawled over on instinct, curling itself around the kid’s skeletal thigh and squeezing in reassurance. If there was a chance that they could find the people who’d murdered his family, he wanted to take it. He wanted to make them pay.

“I could look into it,” Hoshi confirmed slowly. “I can’t make any promises but I have connections. If anybody can find them, I will.”

“Then do it,” Seungcheol ordered, practically falling over himself with the speed at which he was talking. “Get me everything you can and, in return, I’ll buy you a building. I can’t guarantee it’ll be particularly big but it’ll have four walls, a roof and the best central heating system I can find. You can turn it into a shelter, somewhere you can keep the kids and the elderly safe and warm. I’ll take care of the bills, the mortgage, anything that needs taking care of.”

He didn’t realise it until he’d finished talking but there were the first traces of tears in Hoshi’s eyes, shimmering in the firelight despite how desperately he was trying to blink them back, and Seungcheol saw his arms tighten around the child’s middle.

“Give me your word,” he choked, voice cracking heavily on the last syllable. “Give me your word that you won’t back out once I get you what you want. That you won’t double cross me at the last second. That you won’t use me and then refuse to pay your half.”

Anybody and everybody could see how much this meant to him. He was a teenager, barely seventeen if Seungcheol had to guess, and he was responsible for well over fifty lives down here in this hellhole. Nobody deserved to carry a burden like that, especially a kid.

That was why Seungcheol got up from the cool steel of his homemade chair, circled around the fire that separated them and crouched down at Hoshi’s side. 

The boy squirmed playfully, pudgy fists opening and closing in the air, and Seungcheol reached out, smiling softly as ten little digits latched onto his finger, before he looked Hoshi directly in his tearful eyes.

“I give you my word.”

He extended his hand and Hoshi took it, gripping a little tighter than would have been necessary as he gasped out the words, “And I give you mine.”

“Me, too!” the child cried out, and both of them melted, Seungcheol reaching out to ruffle the mop of overly long hair while Hoshi buried his nose in the crook of that little neck in an attempt to hide his tears.

“Then it’s settled,” Seungcheol crowed, booping the baby on the nose. “The boss man has spoken. Who can argue with that?”

“Thank you,” Hoshi whispered, too quiet for anybody but Seungcheol to hear him. “You have no idea how scared I’ve been. I can’t lose another person on these streets. I can’t call Shownu to take away another one of my friends because I wasn’t equipped enough to save their life.”

He was right. Seungcheol didn’t understand. He would. Later down the line when he had a brotherhood of his own and a multitude of people depending on him for guidance and survival. But for now, he didn’t understand at all.

“I’m going to do everything I can to ensure you don’t ever have to live like that again,” he promised as Hoshi bobbed his head in tearful appreciation. “If you want, you can come back with me right now. I could use somebody as skilled as you while I’m fighting this battle.”

Hoshi smiled. A sad kind of smile. As though he wanted to say yes more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, but knew that he couldn’t.

“I have people to protect,” he said, glancing down at where the little boy was starting to fall asleep, curled up on his lap with his face buried in the older boy’s T-Shirt. “We lost his mother the other week. I’m all he has now. And I can’t abandon these people to save my own skin.”

Seungcheol should have expected that. It was admirable. The sacrifice of a leader. He could only hope he would one day be as responsible and as reliable as this kid was.

“I get that,” he agreed. “You’re needed here. Give me twenty-four hours, maximum, and I’ll have the keys to your new shelter.”

“And I’ll have the license for your new bar.”

“Then I’ll get out of your hair,” Seungcheol grinned, giving Hoshi’s shoulder a strong squeeze before straightening up and gesturing for Minghao to join him. “You need me before then, scream.”

“You got it.”

The protective circle that had gradually been growing less and less standoffish during the course of the discussion had almost completely dissipated. They were still watching, at the ready in case of a sudden attack, but the sight of their leader crying openly in front of these strangers must have made them realise they could be trusted.

Therefore, Seungcheol had no problem navigating his way back towards the light, his arm wrapped reassuringly around Minghao’s shoulders until they finally stepped out of that airless hellhole, squinting against the sudden burst of sunshine.

“What happened?” Minghao asked almost at once. “I not understand it all.”

“That’s okay,” Seungcheol told him, knowing it was going to take a little longer for the kid to fully grasp the concept of their language. “We just formed a new ally.”


	6. Clean Shot Stranger

It took two and a half weeks in total.

Hoshi was true to his word, providing the papers the following day, and Seungcheol was, too, finding a building that was big and stable enough to house at least a couple of dozen people.

The amount of money that was spent over that time period was, frankly, shocking but Seungcheol knew that as soon as the bar was up and running, he would be able to pay off the debt he now owed his father and start to make his own profit.

The chop shop helped. Minhyuk hired the bartenders and the servers. Wonho did most of the heavy lifting once they finally got around to assembling the signs and various decorative equipment. Jooheon, Kihyun and Hyungwon assisted Hoshi with the shelter preparations. IM even made a website for the bar.

Shownu was more than busy but he still had time to stop by one night and have a drink. Their relationship was developing into more of a brotherly bond than a professional partnership and Seungcheol was thankful to have somebody who understood his struggles.

Minghao’s Korean was developing almost as quickly as his anger management. There was no denying the intensity of his trauma – the times Seungcheol had awoken to screams coming from the next room were enough to prove that – but he was working through it.

He was getting stronger, both physically and emotionally, and Seungcheol was proud as fuck.

The bar had opened two days previously and, although business was predictably slow, they were all confident that it would pick up. The area was busy and it was going to take a few days for publicity to grow but the interest that had been shown on the first couple of nights proved more than promising.

They were several hours into the shift when Hoshi called to provide the first solid lead Seungcheol had received since his arrival in the city.

Each of the missing shipments had survived the transition from Janggok to Seoul but then they vanished, just wiped off the grid as though they’d never existed. Somebody had intercepted the transport vehicle on its way to Daegu and had made it so that it never reached its final destination.

It wasn’t a lot to go on but it was something and something was better than nothing.

Running the bar was a lot to handle, particularly since he was in the process of training Minghao, communicating with Shownu and Hoshi and investigating the drug disappearance, and Minhyuk was in the process of holding interviews for a proper manager. 

“Hey,” he called out, snatching the half-emptied bottle from Minghao’s hand before he could down the rest of it. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“That only my first!” the kid protested but all Seungcheol had to do was send him a look and he let out a huff of reproachful defeat. “You are no fun.”

“I know,” Seungcheol mumbled absently, returning his attention to the map on the table in front of him. “But you wouldn’t survive a day without me.”

Minghao muttered something in Mandarin that Seungcheol didn’t understand but, from the tone of his voice and the way he slouched against his seat in the booth with his arms crossed and his lips puffed out in a pout, he could tell it was something offensive.

They were sitting in the corner of the bar, far away enough not to draw attention to themselves but close enough to survey as business went about. There were maybe about twenty to thirty customers currently crowded around tables or hunched over the bar and, as the evening progressed, more kept flooding in.

It was their best night so far but Seungcheol was too busy to truly appreciate it.

That was until the door was flung open so violently that it bounced off the opposite wall with a mighty crash. The music was loud enough to drown it out for the rest of the drinkers but Seungcheol, being Seungcheol, was drawn to the disturbance.

A man marched up to the bar, footfalls heavy against the floorboards and ugly face screwed up in an expression of pure disgust as he slammed his forearms down on the counter and rudely demanded his order from the rather flustered young bartender.

He was large. Huge, in fact. Both vertically and horizontally, belt straining with the effort of holding up the rolls of flab that hung over it, and his greasy greying hair was slicked back in a stupid little ponytail at the nape of his neck.

He would have been recognisable from space.

Him and the boy he was with: Joshua.

Seungcheol was instantly on alert, back straightening and hands curling into fists atop the table as he watched the two newest arrivals. Minghao must have sensed something was wrong because he, too, sat up a little and glanced over to the bar.

The ponytail guy had one hand possessively gripping the back of Joshua’s neck, forcing him to lean forwards slightly on his stool so that the edge of the counter was digging painfully into his stomach and, even as they watched, the repulsive giant leaned in.

Joshua’s head was bowed, shoulders hunched, knuckles turning white from how hard his nails were cutting into his palms, but the disgust he felt was evident in the way he shrank back from the hot breath in his ear.

There was no knowing what exactly the man whispered but, when he leaned back, his lips were curled in a revolting smirk of sadistic amusement, and he kept his hand on his captive’s neck even as his beer was delivered to him.

Joshua, of course, didn’t get a drink.

Seungcheol would have stormed straight over and ripped the two of them apart right then and there if their surroundings were any different. He couldn’t cause a scene when there were so many people around.

He would lose business. Word would get around that he had attacked a revered salesman. If a fight broke out, innocent people could get caught in the crossfire. And, most importantly of all, he would be putting Joshua in danger.

“Hao,” he murmured softly without taking his eyes off his targets. “Go help out at the bar and watch those two as discreetly as you can. If the one with the ponytail says or does anything threatening to that boy or to anyone else, for that matter, signal me.”

Minghao didn’t ask questions, although he looked like he wanted to. He simply slid silently out of the booth and circled around to the other side of the counter. The bartender gave him a small smile – they’d been briefed to just allow Minghao and Seungcheol to do whatever they wanted – before returning to her work.

As uncomfortable as Seungcheol was watching Joshua sit there, motionless, just waiting until he was ordered to do something, he had no reason to intervene. He could call the police but the chances of that fat guy having a man on the inside of the law enforcement were too high.

The fact that Minghao was there, standing right in front of them, pretending he was polishing glasses when he was really listening to their every word, had Seungcheol’s nerves settling just a little. With somebody less than two feet away, the pig man wouldn’t try anything.

At least, that’s what Seungcheol thought.

Three beers in and Joshua still hadn’t moved, still hadn’t broken eye contact with the surface of the counter in front of him, but his ‘master’ was red in the face and swaying precariously on his stool. It was probably too flimsy to hold his gargantuan weight anyway.

One of his huge hands started playing with Joshua’s hair, tugging on the strands until his head was pulled back only to let go and watch him obediently return to his original position with a laugh on his lips.

It was a sick game. A humiliating, taunting, cruel game, and Seungcheol didn’t like it one bit but he was still powerless to do anything.

Pig Man leaned in again and, this time, he didn’t stop a few millimetres away. He kept going until his mouth was practically engulfing Joshua’s ear, lips moving sensually and disgustingly over the cartilage as he gradually shifted around to the front of his victim’s face.

Minghao glanced warningly over at Seungcheol who slowly rose from his chair and pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes. He couldn’t be recognised. For both his and Joshua’s safety.

The kiss was horrible to watch. Violent and forced and terribly one-sided. Pig Man had his fingers fisted in Joshua’s hair, preventing him from moving away as his tongue was forced to duel with an unwanted visitor against his will.

But it was when Joshua had to brace his hand against the counter just to stop himself from falling off the stool that Seungcheol couldn’t take it any longer. He didn’t care if he caused a scene. He was putting a stop to this.

Except he didn’t have to. Because somebody else got there first.

Seungcheol was barely halfway across the room when the only remaining person sitting at the bar leapt up from his seat and lunged forwards, fingers curling into the material of the fat man’s shirt and wrenching backwards.

There was an affronted grunt from the brute with the ponytail as the size of his belly almost sent him tumbling to the floor and he whipped clumsily around to stare at the person who’d dared interrupt his non-consensual make out session.

Said person was not somebody Seungcheol recognised. He was young – very young, too young to legally be drinking in a bar – and his face was completely messed up.

Bruises, both black and new and old and blue, were splattered across his cheekbones and jawline. His lip was split, his nose looked as if it had been broken several times before and one of his eyes was swollen and puffy.

The way he moved, favouring one leg and bracing a hand against his side, indicated that the damage hadn’t been solely focused on his face, either. There were probably broken ribs and further bruises beneath his clothing.

He’d been beaten to hell on more than one occasion yet the fire in his eyes as he glowered at the Pig Man burned with the kind of vigour Seungcheol used to see back on the training grounds.

“Get off him,” he snarled despite the subject of his assault being twice his size. “He doesn’t want your filthy hands anywhere near him.”

Joshua had scrambled up from his stool and retreated a couple of steps, shoulders heaving from the effort of retaining the air he hadn’t been allowed to inhale during that kiss, and his face had the word ‘bewildered’ written all over it.

Clearly, he didn’t recognise this guy either.

“Mind your own fucking business,” the Pig Man growled, shrugging the boy’s hand off his shoulder and heaving his gigantic frame upwards. He towered over his opponent. “You millennial fucking pricks think you can get away with fucking anything.”

Seungcheol had to hand it to that boy. He showed no fear. He didn’t even blink.

“Jisoo,” Pig Man snapped. “We’re leaving.”

Giving his opponent one last withering glare, he lashed out and clamped a bruising grip on Joshua’s upper arm, reeling him in to his side and then starting towards the door.

Seungcheol took a step forwards, not prepared to let them out of his sight just yet, but once again, this peculiar stranger beat him to it. The grasp he fastened on the Pig Man’s jacket was surprisingly strong. Strong enough to stop him in his tracks.

“You’re not taking him anywhere. He doesn’t want to go with you.”

Joshua’s eyes were rallying between faces, clearly terrified and confused but unsure how to react when freedom was so close but he was still restrained so tightly.

By now, everybody in the bar had fallen silent in favour of watching the exchange and that was when Pig Man snapped.

“You motherfu –”

He threw Joshua aside so violently that the boy staggered and fell, slamming into the ground with a concerningly loud thump and instantly scrambling backwards until his back hit the bar counter, eyes wide and fearful.

Now that both his hands were free, Pig Man drew back an almighty fist in preparation to plant it in his enemy’s already bruised and broken face but he didn’t even get a chance to finish spewing the expletive on the tip of his tongue.

Seungcheol saw the way the stranger moved: lightning fast and without fear or thought of consequence. The gun was in hand before anybody had the chance to do more than blink and the sound of the shot was enough to shatter every ear drum in the building.

Screams broke out as the customers flooded to the exits, tripping over each other in their desperation to escape, but not even the deafening stampede could mask the shuddering  _ thud  _ that the Pig Man’s body made when it hit the ground.

Minghao vaulted effortlessly over the bar, whipping his sword out from where he’d kept it beneath the counter and pointing its sharpened tip directly at the stranger’s throat as a clear warning to not try anything else.

Seungcheol’s gun was out and the safety was already off but, right in front of his eyes, the boy with the bruises allowed his weapon to slip from his hand and clatter to the ground.

There was a kind of emptiness in his eyes. Not guilt or horror or even shock. Just … emptiness. As though he was truly too tired to feel anything other than numb. He looked almost as lifeless as the man who lay sprawled on the ground, a bloodied hole piercing the centre of his forehead.

A clean shot. Not an easy one to make either.

The bar was almost completely silent, all the customers and staff members having fled for the sake of their own safety, and the only sound that could be heard was Joshua’s ragged breathing from where he was still sitting on the floor by the counter.

Sending a silent signal to Minghao, Seungcheol cautiously stepped forwards until he was close enough to crouch down and retrieve the gun from the ground without lowering his own or rendering himself vulnerable to further attack.

He didn’t bother checking the Pig Man. There was no way anybody could survive a bullet to the brain at that angle.

“He had it coming,” the stranger suddenly spat, empty eyes fixated on the corpse of his victim. “Men like that … They deserve to die. All of them. For thinking they can control another person like a puppet on a string. For thinking it’s okay to tell their partner they love them only to turn around and beat the holy hell out of them five seconds later.”

Okay. So the kid had been abused. And badly by the looks of things. He’d probably seen the way Joshua was being treated and had just … snapped.

“How old are you?” Seungcheol asked, exchanging another glance with Minghao.

“Fifteen.”

Well, shit. Why had the world decided to be so fucking cruel to its children?

Seungcheol opened his mouth to say something else but, before he could produce the words, the sound of wailing sirens echoed in the distance, getting closer and closer with each passing second.

They couldn’t be found here. This boy … This boy would go to jail for the rest of his life and Seungcheol didn’t want that. Because, if it hadn’t been for him, he probably would have killed that bastard himself.

“We have to go,” he declared, pocketing both guns and jerking his head towards the back door. “Either you come with us or you can stay and face the police. Your choice.”

He didn’t wait for a reply, telling Minghao without words to deal with whatever decision the stranger made as he propelled himself across the floor and sank to his knees at Joshua’s side.

The boy was in a state of utter shock, chest spasming, breaths constricted, eyes practically bulging out of his head and gaze resolutely locked on the corpse of the man who was responsible for all the pain and suffering he had endured over the course of his lifetime.

“Hey,” Seungcheol murmured gently, reaching out and resting a hand on the boy’s arm.

Big mistake.

Joshua flinched so violently that he probably gave himself whiplash, a strangled and fearful ‘no!’ escaping his throat as he tried to lash out at Seungcheol’s face. The blow was easy to dodge and the gangster sat back on his heels and held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

“Okay,” he soothed as softly as he could. “I’m sorry, Joshua. But it’s me. Okay? It’s Coups. Do you remember me? Look at my face, Joshua. Do you remember me?”

They were running out of time. Minghao had disappeared from behind him and the stranger seemed to have decided that he wanted to go with them after all but the police would be here any moment and Joshua still wasn’t moving.

“Joshua … Shua?”

He shortened his name as a last resort, hoping to be able to tap in to something that wasn’t associated with the man who now lay dead beside them. He was surprised when it worked, Joshua’s eyes finally zipping upwards to bore into the face looming over him.

Seungcheol saw the moment it clicked inside his head.

“Coups?”

The croak was so weak but it was music to Seungcheol’s ears.

“Coups … He … He’s dead …”

“I know,” Seungcheol nodded, heart rate rising as the sirens got louder. “But we have to go. Okay? Come with me. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll protect you. I swear to God, Joshua, I will protect you but you have to come with me right now.”

For one terrifying moment, he thought that Joshua was going to say ‘no’. That the fear of the unknown was stronger than the fear of the monster that would forever haunt his nightmares. But then Joshua parted his cracked lips and let out the smallest of sounds.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol echoed in relief. “We gotta go. Come on.”

He seized his hand and pulled him to his feet, securing an arm around his waist to steady him when he staggered, legs too weak to support his weight in the wake of such a life-changing shock.

It had all happened so fast and Seungcheol couldn’t imagine how difficult it was to process.

But there wasn’t time for that right now. Later. Yes. Once they’d contacted Shownu to take care of the body and asked Hoshi to pull some kind of magic trick that would close the police investigation and found out what this stranger’s story was, then they could deal with the inevitable PTSD.

For now, the only thing Seungcheol could do was drag Joshua out through the back door, making a promise to himself and to that boy that they were never going to see, touch or hear that monster again. 


	7. Spend the Night

Seungcheol was forced to grow up fast.

From the time he could walk, his father had started training him. He’d learned to use a knife before he’d even learned to write. He was forced to make his own decisions and learn their consequences before his tenth birthday and his father had never – not ever – been merciful.

If he made a mistake, he faced the punishment.

His uncle taught him about allegiances, ways around situations that seemed impossible, ways to palm off issues onto someone more capable without seeming weak. He also taught him teamwork, that he couldn’t do everything on his own, that sometimes he needed help.

And he taught him responsibility. As a leader, he had to make difficult decisions and, sometimes, plans would fall through. He needed to face the consequences of that as well.

So, yes; in most ways, Seungcheol had hopped, stepped and skipped straight into adulthood except there was one lesson he hadn’t learned from the men in his family, but from his mother.

He was still a boy.

Eighteen years old, living on his own in a strange place, staring at three very young, scared and confused kids, and he had to admit that he didn’t have a clue how to help.

He’d given them the immediate necessities: somewhere warm for the night, some food, some water, a change of clothes, but now he was staring across the room at a shell-shocked Joshua, a battered Seungkwan and a very agitated Minghao, and he had no idea what to do.

Minghao was still on an adrenaline high and struggling to come down, pacing back and forth at the back of the room and mumbling something to himself in his native language. Joshua was curled up in the corner of the couch, arms around his knees, shivering.

And Seungkwan, as they’d learned his name was, just sat there. Blank. Emotionless. An empty canvas. An uninstructed simulation waiting for orders. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out whether he was in shock or just completely void of any feeling.

“Coups.”

Seungcheol turned to see Shownu, Kihyun and Hoshi walking into the sunken living room of the base, and he was man enough to admit he felt relief beyond reason that there was finally somebody here who could do something useful.

Shownu had led his team for three years with Kihyun at his side the entire time and Hoshi had more leadership skills in his left pinkie than everybody else in that room. His love and selflessness were evident in the way he had refused to leave a shitty situation just to make sure his team stayed alive. He’d chosen to suffer right there with them.

Seungcheol truly wanted to do his best by these people and if he needed help to do so, he couldn’t think of anybody more equipped to call on than the guys who stood facing him at this moment.

“The body is in a legitimate mortuary but I have someone looking into it,” Shownu said, strutting straight past Seungcheol so he could ruffle Minghao’s hair before turning to Joshua. “You’re in the clear for now. Park Donsong wasn’t a very well-liked man but I can’t assure you his family won’t come looking for his property once the dust settles.”

Joshua twitched slightly, pulling his knees tighter to his chest and avoiding eye contact at all costs. Seungcheol had given him some sweats and a hoodie so he’d feel a little more comfortable and he hoped the material would feel a lot softer against the fresh wounds on his back than whatever his abuser had dressed him in.

He hadn’t said much. He’d eaten when Seungcheol had offered him food but that was about all he’d done since they’d left that bar. He just sat there, staring off into space and there was no way of telling what was happening in his mind. 

“And you,” Shownu continued, addressing the round-faced boy with the bruises: Seungkwan.

He’d told them he belonged to the Boo family. His mother was a well-known accountant and his father a marksman, which explained how he’d learned to make such clean shots without batting an eyelid.

“Your husband came poking around the crime scene. If you don’t want to go back, you need to stay low.”

Seungcheol’s eyebrows arched incredulously. Husband? At fifteen years old? Was that even legal? Then again, that guy clearly thought he was above the law if he assumed he could beat the living daylights out of a child and get away with it.

“Like hell I will,” Seungkwan snapped, visibly seething beneath the split in his lip and the blackened skin around his eye socket. “Let him come for me. I’ve had enough. I’ll fucking kill him!”

Shownu shook his head, looking as if he wanted to say something, but Kihyun beat him to it as he slowly crouched down in front of Seungkwan’s trembling figure and took hold of his hand.

“You know why you can’t do that,” he said gently and, for once, his smile wasn’t present. “It can’t be you who pulls the trigger or your mother will die.”

“Who the fuck says I care about her?”

The first few tears slipped from Seungkwan’s eyes and Seungcheol was beginning to piece the story together.

“She did this …” the boy whispered furiously. “She sold me off to him. She put me on the table to save her own skin. Married me off to a monster so she could protect her back. Do you think that’s the kind of thing a mother would do?” 

It was a lesser-made arrangement in this day and age but it still happened. Usually families would offer up their daughters in return for protection or payment, but Seungcheol could see why somebody like that would accept Seungkwan instead. He was small, short and attractive with soft cheeks, a little nose and round innocent eyes. 

“No,” Kihyun agreed at once. “But you do still care, don’t you?”

Seungkwan squeezed his eyes shut, tightened his fist until his knuckles turned white and then all the tension seemed to just drain from his body as he let out a hitched sigh and nodded his head, finally allowing himself to break down and fall forwards into Kihyun’s arms as sobs wracked his beaten body.

Nobody spoke. They all just stood there, watching the pitiful way Kihyun held the boy against his chest as he cried. Even Joshua looked pained by the situation. He could probably relate more than the rest of them combined.

“I do this,” Minghao announced suddenly, shouldering his sword as if he fully intended on doing whatever ‘this’ was at that very moment.

Shownu hummed in reluctance, straightening from where he’d been crouched beside Kihyun and resting a restraining hand on Minghao’s thin shoulder, “How about we talk about it first?”

Minghao frowned, a small confused pucker forming between his brows, “He needs man dead. I kill him.”

Seungcheol couldn’t help but smile despite the situation. Things were so simple in Minghao’s mind. He always listened so attentively, eager to solve any and every problem, but the issue was that he couldn’t – well, he  _ could _ , but he shouldn’t – do that by killing whoever he felt like.

Although, in this case, that may not be such a bad idea. 

“Seungkwan,” Seungcheol called out softly, smiling when the boy peered up at him over Kihyun’s shoulder. “Are you good at accounting?”

The kid drew away from the comfort of the embrace and rubbed his eyes, nodding confusedly, “Eomma taught me how.” 

God, Seungcheol had no idea how this was going to work. Seungkwan was only fifteen years old but he needed somebody to run his books and clean any potential money he would gain through his drug trades and business at the bar.

“Alright, I have an idea,” he declared, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment of self-collection before raising his head. “What does Seungkwan’s husband do?”

“He’s a loan shark,” Kihyun provided with a knowing smirk. 

Seungcheol’s luck was looking up.

“Perfect. He won’t be missed. Minghao, I need you on that. Be safe, be smart.”

Minghao nodded once and took off without another word, clearly itching to do something productive for the first time in a few days.

“I’ll get Hyungwon on him,” Shownu provided, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “He’s the only one who may be able to keep up.” 

The way the underworld worked – or, at least, how it had worked in Daegu – was simple. If you killed a man, his property belonged to you. That included everything he owned such as turf and shipments, but also allegiances, debts and any workers the victim had employed.

Seungcheol wasn’t out for any of that. The only thing that he truly wanted was Seungkwan’s freedom, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to have the people who were indebted to that basted now be indebted to him instead.

He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. If anything happened to Minghao, it would be his fault. 

“Hoshi?” he asked, turning to the boy who’d been completely silent since his arrival. “Can you put someone on Minghao’s tail.”

Hoshi nodded without question and immediately went about following the order. It wasn’t that Seungcheol didn’t trust Hyungwon’s abilities to keep up and have Minghao’s back. He’d just feel a lot better knowing his kid had extra backup. 

“And Shownu, can you get IM on the Shark’s books?”

He needed to know what he was getting himself into. His father would have been blue in the face if he could see how hastily Seungcheol was putting himself in harm’s way to protect somebody he didn’t even know.

He should take a moment. Plan. Think. But things were moving too quickly and he wanted this done. He wasn’t usually impatient but he couldn’t sit by and watch people – children – suffering for shit that was completely beyond his control. 

“On it.”

Kihyun’s smile was now back in full force as he bounced up from his crouched position and clapped Seungcheol on the shoulder, “I knew I’d have fun working with you.”

“We have to head back,” Shownu filled in, pocketing his phone. “You have no surveillance here and I need to have contact with Hyungwon while he’s out in the field so you should fix that.”

Seungcheol sighed. He knew. He’d installed cameras and had a tech room packed to bursting with equipment but he was yet to find a tech gremlin of his own. But before he could voice any of that, Shownu and Kihyun had left.

Seungkwan had passed out with his head on Joshua’s lap and the sight was about as warm as it got. Joshua looked a lot better. Running his fingers through Seungkwan’s hair seemed to be soothing his nerves and, even though silent tears were rolling down his cheeks, he looked content. 

Hoshi cleared his throat softly, brow knotted in a concoction of hesitance, sadness and concern.

“What is it?” Seungcheol asked at once, walking over to him so they could speak without disturbing the other two.

“It’s … it’s just … you know …” Hoshi stuttered, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “It’s been a while since I’ve been … inside. I don’t mean I haven't been indoors, just … you know. I’ve never been invited into somebody’s home.”

He glanced down at his ratty old boots, dirty hair flopping into his face, and Seungcheol’s heart ached before he blurted out the words, “Spend the night.”

Hoshi had begun shaking his head before Seungcheol even finished speaking.

“Please …” the gangster pushed. “Just … have some food, a shower … sleep in a bed.”

“I should go,” Hoshi said, lips quirking in a grateful but sad smile. “Monkey stays up until I get home.” 

“Hoshi, I have the building,” Seungcheol begged. “I just need the bar to turn a profit so I can get the utilities going. You’re doing the best job possible for these people but, sometimes, you need to be a little selfish. You’re cold, you’re hungry, you’re tired. Spend the night.”

To his incomparable relief, Hoshi finally let out a long breath and nodded, and Seungcheol couldn’t help himself.

He hugged him. He held Hoshi tight and Hoshi held him back. He caught Joshua’s eye and realised he was smiling, too.

“Soonyoung,” came the tiny whisper in his ear and he drew back to stare at the boy in front of him.

“What?”

“Soonyoung,” Hoshi clarified. “Kwon Soonyoung. That’s my name.”

\--------------------

It was almost three in the morning when Seungcheol heard the front door open and several pairs of footsteps trudge through. He was up off his bed and in the entryway in less than thirty seconds, gun already in his hand should it be needed.

Minghao was drenched in blood, Hyungwon looked as if he’d taken a few hard punches to the face and the tall man they’d brought with them also had his clothes smeared and stained with scarlet.

“Hao … What the fuck?” Seungcheol choked, but Minghao just grinned at him. “What happened?”

Hyungwon let out a sigh, leaning heavily against the door frame and massaging his bruised jaw, “Mr Money Banks is dead. He had a few guards and a few prisoners. We released them but the guards wouldn’t step down so …”

“I fight them,” Minghao announced proudly. “I use the gun, too.”

His smile widened and Seungcheol had absolutely no idea what to say. He looked so proud of himself, expressing more emotion in this moment than he ever had in front of his leader before. He was usually irritable and sulky, a side effect of the trauma, but it seemed he’d found his passion: killing.

Seungcheol had to figure out a balance for that kid, and fast. 

“Good job,” he praised, still more than a little rattled. “Now go wash that off.”

Minghao darted past him and disappeared down the end of the hall, Seungcheol’s shout echoing in his wake, “Don’t leave a fucking trail!”

“I’m gonna get Mingi here back to the bridge,” Hyungwon interjected, gesturing towards the lean yet muscled stranger beside him. “He’s one of Hoshi’s guys.”

Seungcheol scrutinised him through the gloom, identifying the terrifying figure that he posed for roughly five seconds before his face melted into a wide, toothy grin.

“Good to meet you, Mr Coups,” he said, his voice deep and jovial and, despite what he’d just done, cute.

“You, too,” Seungcheol replied.

The two of them left with a nod of goodbye and Seungcheol began a slow and weary trek back towards the living room, discovering much to his dismay that Minghao had, indeed, left a trail of bloody footprints.

Seungkwan was fast asleep, stretched out over the couch with a blanket laid on top of him, but both Hoshi and Joshua were gone.

Seungcheol didn’t want to identify whatever he was feeling in his chest so, instead, he picked up the note that had been left on the table and read the words,  _ ‘thank you for killing him’.  _ He didn’t know how he knew it was Joshua’s handwriting, but he did, and he returned the note to its original place for Seungkwan to find in the morning.

He wished they’d stop running away. He wished they’d both let him help, but he knew their reasons. Hoshi had already placed his loyalty to another team and they depended on him for everything. And Joshua was afraid. So, so afraid.

They were just trying to find their places in this world but Seungcheol was willing to wait for as long as it took for them to find their way back to him because, in his mind, they were already part of his team. 


	8. Pharmacist's Apprentice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also contains sensitive content so please be cautious. Stay safe xx

Seungcheol awoke with a start.

The living room around him was pitch black, save for the gentle glow of his iPad screen propped up on the coffee table. His fingers were subconsciously curled around his gun and he was half sitting up before consciousness fully returned to him.

“What the fuck?” he groaned under his breath, digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets in an attempt to lessen the pounding in his head.

The past few weeks had been heaven and hell wrapped up in a flour tortilla and served with a side of gunpowder.

He’d managed to get his bar reopened after only a few days. Shownu had taken care of the police and Minhyuk had hired a new set of staff, this time better suited to working under pressure.

Seonghwa was a slave but his master got rid of him after his face had been scarred by a client. He was still unfairly attractive but disfigured workers had no value. Kai was a throw away from a street gang and Jisung the son of a stripper who’d needed to pay off a debt. They may not be the most trustworthy but at least they wouldn’t quit as soon as they saw a gun or two. 

The news of the shooting had spread through the underworld like wild fire, resulting in a shit tonne of business being sent Seungcheol’s way. Now everybody from pimps to drug dealers was calling for permission to “handle business” on his premises, requests that he readily accepted since he could charge them however much he wanted.

He still called Taeyeon to find out what the Kims charged in terms of regular rates for those types of meetings. He didn’t want to gain himself the reputation of an unfair trading partner.

The loan shark’s books had been the easiest to take care of since, legally, everything he owned now belonged to Seungkwan. All it had taken was one meeting with the lawyer Kihyun recommended to turn over all his assets to Seungcheol, leaving him with more money than he’d originally started.

And that, in turn, meant that the homeless shelter was now fully functional even though Soonyoung still held claim to the bridge. At least now, all the sick, old and abandoned had the option of four walls and a central heating system.

Opening it up had also put Seungcheol on the Mayor’s list of upstanding citizens and the government were initiating discussions with his lawyers regarding monthly donations of food and clothing for the people who stayed there.

Seungcheol had decided to go against officially naming Seungkwan as the manager of the bar just yet, but the kid still ran the books and there was a small profit trickling through within a month. Minhyuk had thankfully made himself available to keep an eye on the place but, when he wasn’t there, Seungkwan was in charge and that boy didn’t tolerate any bullshit. 

Seoul was finally beginning to make sense. He felt like he could have a future here. Like he could settle down, form his team and have a life and, if things went well, he would get his mother out of Daegu. She would be safer in Seoul where her son could set her up in a house and have her guarded night and day.

A shrieking scream pierced the stillness of the darkened building and Seungcheol was off the couch and scrambling up the stairs within seconds.

This seemed to be the one problem he simply, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t solve.

Minghao was tangled up in his bedsheets, arms restrained by the blankets he’d managed to knot around himself as he kicked and thrashed against the mattress. His sweat-slicked hair was plastered to his face and his breaths were harsh, haggard and heavy.

“Shit …” Seungcheol cursed under his breath, circling around to the other side of the bed just in time to move the lamp on the table before Minghao could knock it off with a flailing limb.

“Wha’s happening?”

Seungkwan stumbled over the threshold, eyelids a little stuck together and face swollen from sleep, but he still had a gun clutched in his hand.

He always seemed to have one. Seungcheol had recently been gifted a shipment of firearms after a business deal on his property had resulted in a few of his tables and chairs being damaged. The man had given him the crate in good faith, and also in an attempt to get back on his good side after destroying his stuff.

Seungcheol had let Seungkwan have his pick and the kid, for some reason, had chosen a short-barrel magnum revolver. It was a ridiculously loud piece and they didn’t have a suppressor for it. Seungcheol had a sneaking suspicion that Seungkwan knew exactly how loud it was and something inside him liked to feel his ear drums bursting whenever he took a life.

He just hoped the boy never had to use it. Now it just hung at his side as he inched slightly further into Minghao’s room.

“He okay?”

Seungcheol resisted the urge to roll his eyes, snatching up a pillow from the floor and propping it against the headboard in case Minghao’s battle with the bedsheets led him to cause himself any physical harm.

It was pretty clear that he wasn’t okay. He was in pain, mentally and probably physically, too, forced to relive a nightmare on a merciless loop where he watched his family dying right in front of him over and over again, and Seungcheol could do nothing to help. None of that was okay.

Minghao’s back arched on a terrified scream, legs frantically kicking at the air, arms still pinned. Seungcheol wanted to wake him and tell him he was safe but he’d learned from experience that doing such a thing would more than likely make the situation a lot worse.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he spat another expletive as he fished it out, scrutinising the number that popped up on the screen. It was just a bunch of zeroes and a plus sign: IM’s trademark.

“What is it?” Seungcheol barked into the speaker, still holding the pillow in place above Minghao’s head.

“Security breach at the bar,” came the sharp reply, and Seungcheol really – as in fucking _really_ – didn’t need this right now.

He probably wasn’t ever going to need it but here it was, laid out on a platter for his taking. Shit being forced down his throat at every turn. His property being threatened when he couldn’t leave Minghao. Not like this. And not with Seungkwan.

“Fuck,” he hissed.

“Shownu and Wonho are inbound. ETA: three minutes. Hoshi’s on his way, too, with his guy, Mingi. ETA: five minutes.”

“Got it,” Seungcheol snapped, ending the call and shoving his phone back in his pocket as he turned to Seungkwan. “Watch him and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself. I’ll be right back.”

The kid gave a nervous nod but immediately hastened over to Minghao’s side, perching precariously on the edge of the bed and readying himself for whatever potentially harming action the foreign boy would attempt next. Seungcheol didn’t want to leave them but he didn’t have much of a choice.

By the time he pulled up in front of the bar, everybody was already there. There were no lights on, no broken glass, nothing to indicate a break in. Had it not been for the security system and tiny cameras IM had installed, they would never have known there was somebody else here.

“Shownu, Wonho, go through the front,” Seungcheol instructed, pulling his gun out of his belt and squinting through the gloom at the others. “Hoshi, you and your guy take the side exits. I’ll go in the back.”

This was his turf. His place. His business. That meant that, although there were two other leaders alongside him, he was the one in charge and with silent nods, they all complied with his orders. 

The bar was pretty large. There was a lounge area on the top floor that Seungcheol only opened for truly sinister business meetings, a kitchen at the back where they made cutters for those patrons who couldn’t drink without eating, and there was a stage and dance floor area, too.

It wouldn’t be too difficult to renovate it into a club, something which Seungcheol fully intended to do once the business was a little further established.

The hallway floors were carpeted, perfectly muffling his footsteps as he approached the kitchen, gun held out in front of him. Somebody was moving about in there and, out of the corner of his eye, he could see that everybody else had gravitated towards the commotion as well.

Whoever it was should start saying his prayers. 

Seungcheol abandoned all attempts at stealth. If the person in there had been trained, they wouldn’t have been able to hear them in the first place. Instead, he flipped on the lights and burst through the doors with the others right behind him, expecting the intruder to try shooting, running, anything other than what he saw.

A kid.

A fucking kid.

Why was Seoul’s underworld so saturated with fucking kids?

He was tall, somewhere between Shownu and Mingi, and slim but not lanky or concerningly so. He was only half dressed, wearing nothing more than a ripped T-Shirt, boxer briefs and a lab coat, the tail of which was smeared in blood.

His face, however, was untouched, an aspect that did not fit with his battered appearance. He had a long, straight nose sitting beneath pretty eyes and accented by a mole on his cheek.

And he stared at them. Just … stared, subconsciously chewing whatever food he’d managed to stuff between his cheeks before finally swallowing the overly large mouthful.

“Um … hey,” he squeaked.

Seungcheol lowered his gun, everybody else mimicking his movements behind him, revelling in a state of shocked disbelief. The boy had five weapons trained on him and his first instinct was to say, ‘hey’?

“Hey,” Mingi answered uncertainly.

“Alright,” Seungcheol interjected before the two of them could engage in further small talk. “I think you need to explain yourself. Are you on drugs?”

“Oh … god, no,” the boy answered instantly, lip curled in disgust as he fervently shook his head. “I hate drugs.”

“But you’re a pharmacist,” Hoshi pointed out, gesturing towards his scarlet-stained lab coat and the emblem emblazoned over the breast pocket.

“Apprentice,” came the clarification. 

Seungcheol was stunned. This boy was either completely fearless, completely high or completely traumatised. Shock tended to do something to the brain, cause it to shut down in an attempt to protect the consciousness from the reality of what had just happened to it.

And something had happened to that boy. The lack thereof and condition of his clothes and the blood on his coat were testament enough to that.

“And you’re breaking into my bar and having a snack because …?” Seungcheol pushed, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms over his chest, confident that Wonho and Shownu weren’t about to let their guards down anytime soon.

“Well … I sort of … ran away,” the trespasser mumbled, wrapping his coat tighter around his body. “Yeah, that’s a good explanation. I picked up and got the fuck out of there. I did what I had to do.”

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

It was bizarre.

“Oh … Oh, shit, I know who this is,” Mingi suddenly declared, tucking away his own weapon and taking a couple of steps forward before drawing short when the boy flinched away. “Dude … You have a price on your head.”

The kid simply nodded in understanding, nibbling on his bottom lip and shuffling uncomfortably from foot to foot. He looked like he was in pain.

“Mind clearing that up?” Shownu snapped, clearly growing impatient.

There was a flash of uncertainty in the boy’s eyes, gaze pinballing between the various faces that were all staring at him. He didn’t seem to want to provide any explanations as to what he’d gone through but the guns in Shownu and Wonho’s hands were probably what convinced him otherwise.

“I was a pharmacist’s apprentice,” he mumbled. “I killed an abusive client and ran so … yeah … I assume my boss would want me dead. Or, at least, brought back to him so he could kill me himself.” 

He had no shoes.

“An abusive client?” Seungcheol echoed, pushing off the counter and straightening his posture slightly.

He already had enough going on. Minghao, Seungkwan, maybe Joshua if he ever came back. He really couldn’t afford to deal with anybody else and it seemed that Shownu shared the same sentiment.

“Coups … you can’t,” he sighed, and Seungcheol gave him a reluctant nod.

He knew. He understood. He couldn’t protect anybody else. He needed people who could do something for him, offer a service or an asset to his slowly growing team, not another broken child who’d been run down by trauma, abuse, neglect or all three. But he wanted to help.

“Get word out to the pharmacist that I have his guy. I need to get back to The8. I basically left him screaming in bed.” 

“Is he hurt?” the boy piped up, drawing the attention back to him.

He was trembling slightly, his state of half dress doing nothing to protect him from the cool air of the kitchen and his bare feet on the tiles clearly causing him a great deal of discomfort. His legs were bruised, too, scuffed and grazed like he’d repeatedly fallen onto concrete.

“Not physically,” Hoshi filled in, eyes narrowed with mistrust.

Wonho and Shownu exchanged a solemn glance that did not go unnoticed by Seungcheol. It was then that he realised just how much Minghao meant to all of them. In the short time they’d known him, his sulky yet quirky personality had gotten beneath everybody’s skin. He was so eager to please, so young and talented and just so … endearing.

“Oh … there’s stuff for that, too,” the food thief observed, absently scratching at the floor tiles with his toenail. “Stuff that will block out his receptors for a while. Maybe even get his serotonin flooding. Dopamine, oxytocin, endorphins … Boom: happy juice.”

Seungcheol’s mind tripped over itself. Of course, a pharmacist could help. Of course, a pharmacist would know which drugs would help Minghao finally get some sleep and also how to administer them.

“Coups …” Shownu warned.

“I have to at least try.”

Shownu was right, but he had to do something.

“I’ll buy him off the pharmacist and I’ll get him to help Hao.”

At the mention of Minghao’s real name, Shownu must have been able to tell it was a losing battle and although he rolled his eyes and expelled a very frustrated sigh, he didn’t express any further opposition.

“Can you get Hyungwon to track down which pharmacist owns … uh …”

“Seokmin,” the boy provided, spirits visibly lifting at the thought of switching masters. “But my boss calls me Dokyeom.”

Seungcheol was still slightly unsettled. Seokmin seemed a little … extra. He said he wasn’t on drugs but maybe being in such close proximity to them had given him the same symptoms. The others clearly all thought he was insane for trying to recruit this boy but if there was a chance he could help Minghao then Seungcheol would take it.

“Just … please … get Hyungwon to pay him off,” he implored, locking gazes with an exceedingly exasperated Shownu. “You may want some backup. I’ve never dealt with pharmacists before.” 

“We got it covered,” Shownu sighed in defeat. “Go ahead and take him to Hao.”

“Thank you.”

\-----------------------

When Seungcheol returned to the base with Seokmin in tow, he found Minghao curled up on Seungkwan’s lap, something he’d never seen happen before. The boy was receptive to hair ruffles and affectionate shoulder pats but he seldom allowed this level of skinship.

His eyes were open, staring numbly and blankly into the darkness, as Seungkwan carefully ran his hand up and down his back and hummed under his breath. He had a beautiful voice and it was obviously doing something to calm Minghao’s mental state.

Seungcheol had told Seokmin to change out of his dirty clothes, speaking slightly more kindly than he had back in the kitchen after he learned where the blood had come from and why the boy had opted to lie across the back seat of the car instead of sitting in the front.

The kid had been through enough.

They’d stopped at a street corner that Seokmin was apparently familiar with and a woman in a similar lab coat had emerged from the pharmacy with a pouch in her hand that Seungcheol had later learned contained the sedatives.

“I gave him a bath and he’s been like this ever since,” Seungkwan supplied, slowly trying to slip out from beneath Minghao’s paralysed form.

As soon as he registered the movement, however, Minghao released a pained whimper from between his colourless lips and Seungkwan instantly stopped trying to escape, choosing instead to pull the boy closer against his chest. 

“I got this,” Seokmin mumbled, pulling the vials out of his pouch and filling up one of the syringes. “He’ll be fine by midday.”

“Is this going to fix him?” Seungcheol asked, sitting on the bed beside Seungkwan and absently running his fingers through Minghao’s hair.

“Fix?” Seokmin parroted incredulously, eyes widening and lips quirking in a scoff of disbelief. “I can’t _fix_ him, Coups.”

It was the most serious Seungcheol had heard him sound all night. It was strangely unnerving.

“I can help him sleep, I can make him feel better for a while, I can even help him forget for a night or two … but what’s broken can never truly be put back together again.”

Seungcheol understood the definition of Seokmin’s words but he wondered what they meant to Seokmin specifically and he wondered if they meant anything to Joshua.

He still hadn’t seen or heard from him since the night he’d left and Soonyoung provided assurances that there had been sightings but that didn’t make it okay. Seungcheol doubted it would ever be okay unless he got Joshua back within arms’ reach. Something about his spirit had made him … feel.

He’d wanted to keep him safe and yet give him space to be free. He wanted him to be able to protect himself but he also wanted him to come back when he needed answers. He wanted to be there for him. He just wanted him to be around.

Seokmin cautiously extracted one of Minghao’s arms from where it had curled itself in the front of Seungkwan’s shirt and administered the sedatives through the back of his hand.

Seungcheol watched as the boy’s eyes slid shut and his body went limp, allowing Seungkwan to finally crawl out from beneath him and fix the bed covers around his unconscious form.

As the two of them were standing there, contentedly watching him sleep while Seokmin packed up the syringes, Seungcheol’s phone screen lit up with a message from Hyungwon.

_Wasn’t easy but we fixed it. The boy is yours_

The words didn’t sit right. They didn’t feel right. They didn’t sound right either. It was like he’d gotten himself a slave and, technically, he had. Seokmin had been a slave to the pharmacist and now Seungcheol had officially purchased him.

“Seems I own you now, Seokmin,” he whispered, the words feeling bitter in his mouth. He owned a slave. “You’re safe.”

He expected Seokmin to be happy, grateful even, to be free of the man who had allowed such abuse to go on for so long and finally be able to live. Sure, he still belonged to somebody but Seungcheol would never be cruel to him, he’d never hurt him or force him to do anything against his will.

But he still owned another human being. He _owned_ him.

And when Seokmin looked up at him with blank eyes and a half smile, Seungcheol knew nothing he gave him would matter because Seokmin was still a slave.

“Thank you, Master.”

Seungcheol almost withered right there on the spot. Nobody had ever called him that before and, if he had his way, nobody was ever going to call him that again. He had to do something about this here and now before Seokmin’s conditioned obedience drove him sick.

Ignoring the look of pure horror Seungkwan had on his face, Seungcheol turned to him and pointed down at Minghao’s unconscious body.

“Are you good to stay with him until I get back?”

He knew how it looked. He’d just disappeared, leaving the boy with somebody so wrapped up in their own trauma that they couldn’t distinguish between fantasy and reality and then returned with a kid who had just called him ‘master’. Seungkwan already hated the idea of slaves and now Seungcheol had just bought himself one.

“Please, Seungkwan.”

“Okay.”

They were going to have to hold a long conversation about this in the morning but at least, for now, Seungkwan’s concern for Minghao was stronger than his need to find out what the hell his new leader had just done.

“Seokmin, come with me.”

The kid followed compliantly as Seungcheol stalked down the hallway until he reached the kitchen. Flipping on the lights, he pulled two large mugs from the cupboard and started up the coffee machine. There was absolutely no way he was getting back to sleep tonight.

“Can you sit down?” he shot over his shoulder before remembering what Seokmin had told him and internally kicking himself. “Sorry. I mean, are you okay to stand?”

There was a tentative nod from the boy by the door, his eyes still downcast in a mark of respect that had Seungcheol’s stomach churning almost as loudly as the coffee in the machine behind him.

Distributing the muddy brown liquid between the cups, he handed one to Seokmin who, immediately after taking it, dropped into a low bow that almost had him spilling it all over the tiled floors.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Okay, no,” Seungcheol blurted, putting a hand on the kid’s elbow and pulling him back into an upright position. “Don’t call me that. Please … Please don’t call me that.”

Seokmin blinked confusedly up at him, still yet to raise the mug to his lips, “Then what would you like me to call you?”

Seungcheol still hadn’t told him his real name but he had told him Minghao’s so he supposed there was no point in hiding his identity any longer.

“Call me Seungcheol,” he said. “Except if you’re ever outside or talking to somebody you don’t know or trust. Then call me S.Coups. Coups, if you’re feeling lazy. And please … drink something. I know you’re starving.”

He must have been in order to risk breaking into a building and Seungcheol was fairly certain in assuming that he hadn’t had a proper meal since he’d started running from his boss. He looked pale, peaky and completely exhausted.

That was why it was so rewarding to see him raising the mug and sipping experimentally at the hot drink. Seungcheol had made it decaf. Even if he wasn’t getting any more sleep, he wanted Seokmin to.

“I don’t own you,” he declared slowly, pointedly, making sure the boy was listening to his every word. “You’re not a slave anymore. If you want, you can leave right now and you won’t ever hear from me again. The only reason I suggest you don’t is that I can keep you safe here. Safer than you’ll be out there.”

Seokmin was still staring at him, blinking owlishly over the rim of his mug, as though he couldn’t figure out what to make of this situation.

“I don’t want a slave,” Seungcheol continued. “The idea makes me sick. You’re human. You’re not an object. You’re not a possession and I certainly don’t want to consider you as ‘mine’. You are yours. Whatever you want to do, you can do it. This is your life and you’re in control of it.”

He wished he knew what more to say. The way that Seokmin was watching him, bewildered and a little suspicious, was proof enough that he still didn’t believe the words he was hearing but Seungcheol didn’t have a clue what could possibly convince him.

“You’re not a prisoner anymore, Seokmin. I promise you. You’re free and you’re safe and if you want then you can walk out of that door right this second but you can also stay and help me.”

That was what finally got a verbal reaction, “Help you how?”

Seungcheol almost sighed in relief. He was truly starting to think the boy had gone mute with how long he’d stayed silent. God knew it would have been an understandable reaction given what he’d gone through in the past twenty-four hours – or six months, depending on how he wanted to look at it.

“As you can probably tell, I don’t exactly run a strictly law-abiding business,” Seungcheol started to explain, wondering just how much he could say without freaking the kid out. “I’ve killed, Seokmin. And I’ll kill again if I have to. I need you to know that if you’re going to stay.”

Another nod and, this time, no suspicion. He wasn’t afraid. He’d probably been expecting something like this considering they’d apprehended him with five guns in his face and then taken him away to a secret mafia base.

“But what you did for Minghao tonight … That’s the kind of thing I need,” Seungcheol pushed, setting his mug down on the kitchen island and taking a small step closer. “People are going to get hurt. Me, Seungkwan, Hao, maybe the other people that you met as well. You have first aid training, right?”

“Yes, Ma … I mean … Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol’s heart swelled to twice its size at the correction. He’d thought it would take a lot longer for Seokmin to warm up to using his real name but, apparently, the kid was just as eager to forget the past as he was.

“Then, Seokmin, if you want to – but _only_ if you want to – would you be okay with patching us up whenever we come home a little worse for wear?”

He knew it was a big ask. Seokmin was a pharmacist, not a doctor, and therefore his medicinal knowledge would be limited but, so far, Seungcheol had been lucky. Minghao had been lucky. Sooner or later that luck was going to run out and they were going to need somebody who at least sort of knew what they were doing.

The same concerns seemed to be brewing inside Seokmin’s head as he gnawed on his bottom lip for a few seconds before finally voicing his thoughts, “If you get, like … stabbed or shot or something then I’m not sure I’ll be of much use.”

“Oh, I know that,” Seungcheol laughed, beaming brightly when the kid’s lips quirked upwards, too. “Don’t worry. If that happens, I won’t ask you to do anything. That wouldn’t be fair on you.”

If that happened, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Minghao and Seungkwan could go to a hospital. He couldn’t. But the more jobs they worked and the more crimes they committed – because that was unavoidable – the more dangerous it would be for any of them to seek professional medical attention.

That would have to be a problem for another time.

“So, what do you say?”

“Yes,” Seokmin blurted at once, nodding his head frantically and quite obviously having to remind himself that he didn’t have to bow to show his gratitude. “Yes, please, M … Seungcheol. Yes, please. Please.”

He was cute. Really cute.

“Okay,” Seungcheol nodded, reaching out a hand and ruffling the boy’s hair affectionately. “This building’s plenty big enough. Write down a list of supplies you think you’ll need, we’ll get them delivered and then set you up a medbay. But, for now, let’s go find you a room. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

He started towards the door, still smiling to himself, before he realised that Seokmin wasn’t following him. He stopped, glanced over his shoulder and saw that the kid hadn’t moved, still clutching his coffee mug and gaping with widened eyes.

“What?”

“I … I get a room?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol nodded, keeping his tone light even though his instincts were screaming at him to go find that pharmacist and beat the crap out of him. “You get a room. And you even get to pick which one.”

The look of pure happiness on Seokmin’s face could have cured cancer.


	9. This Homeless Kid

When Seungcheol had set out to establish a team, he hadn’t intended on adopting three children in the process. That was the word he was using now: adopt. It sounded a shit load better than ‘bought’ or ‘purchased’.

For a while, things had been quiet. Seokmin had built himself a medbay that they were, thankfully, yet to use and Seungkwan had taught him how to shoot a gun. Seungcheol was never going to send him out in the field but it couldn’t hurt to teach the kid how to defend himself.

Minghao was improving in leaps and bounds. Not only was his mental state stabilising thanks to the pills Seokmin had prescribed but his fighting was getting more and more controlled and deadly.

He and Seungcheol would regularly find themselves sparring in the training room, using wooden sticks instead of swords for safety reasons, for hours on end and, as time progressed, Seungcheol actually started to lose.

The kid was a force to be reckoned with and Seungcheol was pretty damn thankful that he had him on his side. If he ever had to go up against him in a real fight to the death, he was no longer one hundred percent certain that he would win.

It was a couple of weeks after Seokmin had joined them that the world started to crumble at the seams again.

Seungcheol got a call saying that Minhyuk had been stabbed while overseeing a drug exchange and, when Jooheon and Hyungwon had finally gotten to him, the shipment was gone and he was barely breathing. From what Seungcheol understood, it had been one hell of a close call.

He appointed Seungkwan as official bar manager after that, knowing that Minhyuk wouldn’t be able to fulfil his previous position for at least a couple of months while he recovered. And then he started searching.

Now, more than ever, it was imperative that they found those drugs and brought the person who’d been taking them to justice. Minhyuk had very nearly been killed, an aspect of their reality that was not sitting well with Shownu and the rest of the chop shop. They wanted blood and Seungcheol would be lucky if he managed to get the culprits to his uncle before they were slaughtered.

And then he got the call from Soonyoung. 

Seungkwan was working at the bar so he left Minghao with Seokmin and headed straight for the chop shop where he knew the lynch mob would be gathered, preparing themselves for a cold-blooded murder spree in order to avenge their injured brother.

“I’m here!” he called as soon as he stepped through the door, the CLOSED sign fluttering harmlessly against the glassy surface. “What have we got?”

Soonyoung, Shownu, Jooheon, Hyungwon, Wonho and IM were all crowded around a single table, a map spread out between them and a couple of felt tip pens resting on top. As Seungcheol sat down beside them, he noticed the thick multicoloured lines that had been etched into the paper.

“These are the drug routes?”

“Yep,” Soonyoung nodded solemnly. “Minhyuk kept changing them in the hope that it would throw these guys off but it never did. They always found the shipment and they always took every last gram. So far, Minhyuk’s been the only survivor.”

Shownu’s jaw was set and bulging, knuckles crackling ominously amongst each other. Seungcheol did not want to be on the wrong side of a punch like that.

“Why was he even there?” he asked instead, turning to Wonho when he was the one to reply.

“He wanted to see it for himself. Hoped he could catch the guys in the act and detain them long enough for the rest of us to get there. All the backup he had with him were dead when we arrived. God knows how he managed to get out of there.”

“These guys are serious,” Jooheon cut in. “Getting the jump on Minhyuk … That’s not an easy thing to do. He’s stronger than he looks, he never goes anywhere without at least three knives and a pistol, and he’s one hell of a fighter. Whoever took him down is pretty damn fucking good.”

Seungcheol scrubbed his hands over his face and raked his fingers through his hair. He’d expected as much. The people who’d managed to pull this off were smart and organised and obviously large in numbers. They weren’t going to be easy to overpower.

“How is Minhyuk?” he asked absently because he felt like it was the least he could do.

The only reason Minhyuk had been there that night was because he was trying to investigate Seungcheol’s case. If it weren’t for Seungcheol, he never would have lain in that alleyway, steadily bleeding out as his team rushed around like headless chickens trying to find him.

“Kihyun’s with him at the hospital,” Hyungwon explained, smirking bitterly when Seungcheol’s eyebrows arched at the word ‘hospital’. “We had no choice. He wouldn’t have made it if we’d tried to stitch him up ourselves.”

Seungcheol understood. Minhyuk had been circling the drain, they’d been panicking and their only option was to get him to a bunch of proper doctors in a proper medical facility who could take proper care of him. 

“We have a name though,” IM blurted, instantly drawing the attention of every person around that table.

“You do?”

“Yep,” the kid nodded proudly, spinning the laptop on his knee around so that the rest of them could see the picture that sat on the screen. “Minhyuk was able to give us a basic description before he lost consciousness. We passed it around and one of Hoshi’s guys confirmed that he’d seen someone matching it the same night of the ambush.”

This was it. This was real. This was the first solid piece of information Seungcheol would be able to relay to his uncle back in Daegu.

“I did some research and asked around a chatroom,” IM continued. “The guy who stabbed Minhyuk works for a Lee Hyunsik. He runs various drug cartels around the city and owns a few known crack houses. There are even rumours that he’s been experimenting with dodgy products in order to create something that instils a more intensive high so he can sell it for a greater profit.”

Seungcheol swore under his breath, squinting down at the photograph on IM’s laptop in an attempt to memorise the face his uncle was going to put a bullet through. 

The guy was probably in his late forties, the lower portion of his face masked by black bristly tufts and his sleeves straining with the effort of containing some pretty gigantic biceps. The picture had been taken on the street and, if Seungcheol didn’t trust IM’s judgement, he would have believed him to be nothing more than just another guy.

He was big and butch, sure, but he looked … normal. And yet his people were messing with shit that was a lot larger than them. Shit that they were never going to be able to understand. They may think they knew what they were doing but as soon as they were kneeling before the Mins, they were going to wish they’d stayed in whatever dark and dingy hole they’d crawled out of.

“Shownu,” Seungcheol called out. “Look at me.”

The leader’s eyes slowly rose from where they’d been fixed on that photograph and Seungcheol recognised the emotion that was stirring within them: hatred. His guy had been attacked by this man. Had almost been killed by this man. Seungcheol was impressed that he was still sitting on this couch.

“Hold off,” he begged softly. “Just a little longer. Please. Just wait until we have a fulproof plan to get this motherfucker and then you can go to fucking town. I don’t care if it isn’t me who pulls the trigger so long as I can tell my father that he’s dead.”

Shownu opened his mouth, clearly preparing to say something, but the buzz of Soonyoung’s phone interrupted whatever he was about to express, some idol group song filtering through the speakers and demolishing the atmosphere.

“Is that … SHINee?” Jooheon scoffed incredulously as Soonyoung drew the device from his pocket and stepped away from the table to take the call. “Really? SHINee?”

“Screw you,” the boy snapped. “SHINee for the win.”

In spite of everything, Seungcheol found himself chuckling. He’d bought Soonyoung the phone so he would be able to communicate with him better and, upon the kid’s request, he’d bought a couple more for some of his higher-ranking minions.

Apparently, it had greatly improved their coordination, ensuring that Soonyoung would know the minute that something happened at the shelter or the bridge and, if he wasn’t able to make it home for the night, he would be able to talk to his Monkey before bed.

Seungcheol tuned back into whatever Wonho was saying but it was barely a second later that Soonyoung’s splutter of horror had everybody else descending into immediate silence.

“Sorry …  _ What  _ happened? … And you didn’t stop him?”

Seungcheol shuffled a little straighter in his chair, brow knitting in the centre of his forehead. Clearly something bad had gone down and, if Soonyoung needed him to, he had to be ready to provide backup.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you know how volatile he is … Did it ever cross your mind that the kid might just be hungry? No? … Of course, it didn’t … And now you want me to come and clear up his mess? As if I don’t have enough on my hands right now?”

He sounded a little like a disapproving parent scolding their petulant child and, if his tone wasn’t so serious, Seungcheol probably would have found it amusing.

“How much damage did he do? … He  _ what?  _ … Have you called an ambulance? … What the hell is wrong with you, man? … No, of course I know that the cops would ask questions but don’t you think I can handle that? … Fine … I said ‘fine’, you moron! I’ll be there in ten.”

He hung up the phone and let out a long, frustrated sigh, massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers and breathing in a few deliberately slow breaths as though trying to control the rising anger inside him.

“Problem?” Seungcheol quipped.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“What happened?”

“I have this batty old geezer in my network. Pretty sure he’s got psychosis or something … He’s pretty damn violent when something sets him off. This homeless kid apparently slept in his ‘spot’ and they beat the holy hell out of each other.”

He let out another sigh.

“I’m sorry, Coups. I’m going to have to go and sort this out.”

“I’ll come with you,” Seungcheol offered, cutting Soonyoung off when it looked like the boy was going to argue. “You’ve helped me out. Now I’m repaying the favour. Lead the way.”

Zipping his jacket up in preparation to protect him from the cold, he gave Soonyoung a push towards the door and addressed Shownu just before he followed, “I’ll be back, guys. Don’t kill anybody without me.”

Hyungwon raised an acknowledging hand and then Seungcheol was marching down the street with Soonyoung at his side, already shuffling the gun on his belt into a more accessible position in case he needed its use.

“Bridge?” he inquired sullenly, receiving only a grunt of confirmation in return.

Soonyoung was pissed. Anybody would have been able to see that so they made the rest of their journey in a silence that only broke when a man came scuttling out from beneath the underpass to meet them, his expression sheepish.

“Yechan,” Soonyoung barked, and the boy physically shrivelled at the harshness to his tone. “Where are they and how bad is it?”

The kid opened his mouth but was instantly interrupted by another curt order, “Talk while you walk.”

“Yes,” Yechan stuttered, lapsing into a kind of shuffling sidestep in an attempt to keep facing them while still showing them the way to the scene of the scuffle. “Taekhyeon’s up and complaining. He got beaten up quite bad but he’s refusing our help. Mingi’s having a difficult time keeping him still.”

“And the boy?” Soonyoung snapped as they passed one of the first burning oil barrels, the outside light slowly getting dimmer as they progressed further into the darkness. “What’s his condition?”

“Not good. He cut his head open really bad and I think Taekhyeon got him in the ribs. He’s conscious but he’s really skinny and I think he’s been abused or something since he freaks out whenever anybody goes near him.” 

Of course, he did. Nobody chose to sleep on the streets. Something terrible must have happened to that kid, just like it must have happened to all these people. And to Soonyoung himself, Seungcheol realised.

“They’re just here,” Yechan mumbled, gesturing towards the wall where two figures were gently illuminated by the glow of the fire.

One of them was Mingi and the other was whom Seungcheol presumed to be Taekhyeon. He was old and wrinkled, stank of alcohol and had a pair of bloodshot eyes that practically bulged out of his head like some weird toad creature.

His nose was bleeding and his cheek had a pretty spectacular bruise blossoming at its peak, accompanied by a badly split lip and a couple of scraped knuckles. One arm was wrapped around his middle, probably to massage whatever trauma had been done to his abdomen.

It was messy and Seungcheol was impressed. Homeless kids were usually small and scrappy. One hard punch to the liver and the enemy would be too winded to move. Then they were ripe for the taking. Homeless kids didn’t usually know that.

And his guy was shouting a load of complete nonsense, “That boy tried to kill me! Do you hear me? He tried to kill me! He held a knife to my throat and stole my things and then he tried to kill me!”

“Taekhyeon,” Mingi reasoned exasperatedly, gripping both the old guy’s shoulders in an attempt to keep him from scrambling to his feet. “He did not try to kill you. You went for him first, remember? He was just defending himself.”

“You liar! He tried to kill me! Everybody here saw it! The bastard tried to gut me like a fish!”

“Yeah, okay,” Mingi nodded, beckoning Yechan over to take his place so he could straighten up and talk to Soonyoung. “I only just got here.”

“Where’s the kid?” Soonyoung demanded, eyeing Taekhyeon’s agitated figure and rolling his eyes at the empty threats he was throwing into thin air. “Yechan said he got beat pretty bad.”

“You could say that,” Mingi nodded as he started to trudge further into the tunnel. “He put up one hell of a fight, though. Taekhyeon really went for him and he just kind of … snapped. Looked absolutely terrified, too. He’s not in a good way but he won’t let me near him.”

He pulled up short and only when the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls had ceased was Seungcheol able to hear the low, rattling wheezes battling their way out of the body that lay slumped against the stone.

The boy was curled up on his side and, even in the gloom, Seungcheol could see that half of his face was practically dripping scarlet. It looked like somebody had emptied a can of paint over his head.

“Jesus …” Soonyoung muttered as Seungcheol slowly sank to his knees and shuffled forwards.

He didn’t want to reach out and touch when he knew that the kid was refusing physical contact but, before he could even think about extending a hand, a pair of eyes fluttered open, one of the lids sticky with blood, and Seungcheol flinched in surprise.

“I’m not going to hurt –” he started but he didn’t get the chance to finish.

“Get away …” the boy croaked between gasps, very slowly pushing his hand across the floor towards Seungcheol, fingers curled around a shard of broken glass. “Get away from –”

He stopped mid-sentence and, for a moment, Seungcheol wondered if he’d died right there on the spot. His eyes just seemed to mist over, lips frozen in the shape of his last word, and then he started to shake all over.

His voice was so weak and feeble that it was barely audible.

“Coups …”

Seungcheol frowned. He understood that people in this city knew his name but none of them had ever recognised him just from his face alone. Did that mean this boy knew him from somewhere? Had they met before?

“Coups …”

He was reaching out, abandoning the glass shard in favour of scraping his fingertips against Seungcheol’s knee, as though desperately trying to grab hold of something solid and warm when his entire body was freezing cold and bleeding.

“Okay,” Seungcheol nodded, shuffling a little closer. “Okay. I’m going to sit you up, okay?”

Ensuring his movements were slow and his hands were visible at all times, he slipped one beneath the boy’s head and gently levered him into a somewhat sitting position before guiding him back against the wall to rest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered when a pained whimper bounced off the stone walls. “Did you hurt your ribs?”

It seemed like a stupid question seeing how much trouble breathing the kid was having and Seungcheol had to wonder if maybe he’d cracked a couple of bones. The source of most of the blood seemed to be the wound beneath his hairline. It was jagged and deep but the flow seemed to have stopped for the time being.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him …” the boy whispered hoarsely. “I was tired and cold and he came at me … I didn’t want to hurt him … But he was going to kill me …”

“I know,” Seungcheol murmured, glancing up at Soonyoung to see the expression of concern painted on his face. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about that right now. He’s not going to come near you again.”

He swivelled back around to survey the kid’s injuries one more time and that was when he saw it. The blood had done a pretty decent job of covering most identifying features but now that the side of his face that was clean had been exposed to the light, Seungcheol realised why this boy knew his name.

“Holy shit … Joshua.” 


	10. Kick a Gift Horse

“Um … Mast – I mean – Seungcheol … I … this … is a lot of blood.”

“It’s okay, Seokmin. Just patch him up as best you can.”

Seokmin nodded but the expression of apprehension on his face didn’t shift as he continued to stare down at where Joshua was curled up in the foetal position on the medbay bed. 

His breathing had evened out since they’d brought him in but there was still the matter of his bloodied hairline that needed to be addressed and Seokmin didn’t seem exactly prepared for that.

He’d said he wasn’t particularly squeamish and he’d obviously seen blood before – more than this, for sure – but the problem was that he didn’t seem to have ever been the primary caregiver for the person whom it belonged to.

“Okay …” he mumbled under his breath, reaching out to lay his hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “Can you –?”

The patient flinched away from the touch as though it had burned him and Seokmin drew back with a guilt-ridden drop in his jaw and furrow in his eyebrows. 

Seungcheol wanted to say something but he didn’t know what. Thankfully for all of them, Minghao did. 

He hopped down from the table he’d been perched on and shunted Seokmin out of the way, grumbling an irritated, “Should look for better doctor,” under his breath as he passed.

“Not a doctor,” Seokmin clarified defensively, although the heartbroken expression on his face didn’t falter.

Minghao’s did, a confused frown quirking his lips, “Did I ask? I don’t think I ask. Who say I ask?”

“Alright, break it up,” Seungcheol sighed, nervously watching their newest arrival as Minghao crouched down beside the bed and ever so gently tapped Joshua on the back of the hand.

“Hello,” he said when the boy peered up at him through bloodied eyelids. “Minghao … remember?”

He gestured towards himself and beamed encouragingly when Joshua gave a timid nod in response.

“Good, sit, sit. I help now,” he chirped before slipping a hand beneath the boy's head and levering him into a sitting position, apologising softly when his actions elicited a wince of pain. “Sorry, Joshi.”

The nickname had come from nowhere but it still sparked a small smile from the recipient as Minghao made quick work of cleaning the blood from his face and applying the butterfly bandage to the sizeable gash in his scalp.

Joshua seemed to be loosening up a little, clearly soothed by Minghao’s gentle touches and adorable attempts at communication, the latest of which came in the form of a cautious, “Ribs?” as he tugged on his patient’s shirt. 

He was getting better at Korean but it seemed that the only time he would speak in full sentences was to insult somebody. Seungcheol was still working on that.

Joshua sent an exceedingly nervous glance in the leader’s direction before slowly lifting the hem of his shirt and allowing Minghao to help him pull it over his head, revealing the giant splodge of red and purple splattered over his chest.

“It’s not broken,” he whispered without making eye contact.

“How do you know?” Seungcheol asked him, sitting on the bed at his side while Minghao poked and prodded at the injured area.

“I know what a broken rib feels like. I’m fine … bruised but fine.”

Seungcheol gave a hum of understanding and a nod of acknowledgement when Minghao flashed him a look that confirmed what Joshua had diagnosed: not broken.

“I’m sorry about my guy,” Soonyoung offered from behind them. “I didn’t know you were sleeping at my place and he wasn’t even supposed to be there. I moved all the older ones to the shelter.”

“I wasn’t there till last night,” Joshua shrugged, squirming slightly from the pain in his side. “I didn’t think you still owned that place now that you have the shelter running.”

Joshua had been keeping tabs. None of them had mentioned the shelter before now so that meant he had to have heard it from somebody else which also meant that the underworld was already informed of his allegiance with the Riff Raff King.

He didn’t know what that meant for them but, with Seungcheol’s luck, it could only bring trouble.

“Where have you been all this time? I’ve kept a look out for you.”

“Here and there,” Joshua mumbled, sweeping his bloodied hair out of his face and gratefully accepting the painkillers Minghao handed him. “Mostly with Mr Kwan, but I couldn’t exactly stay there.”

It was a surprise Kwan had even allowed him to stay at all. Nobody was yet to put a hit out on him but who was to say how long it would be before Park Donsong’s family came looking for their bereaved member’s stolen property. 

Seungcheol let out a sigh before he could stop himself. He couldn’t keep Joshua safe if he kept running, but he couldn’t make him stop if that wasn’t what he wanted.

“I’d like you to stay here for a while, Shua,” he said, gazing imploringly up at the bruised and broken boy in front of him. “At least until you’re healed up a bit. You can work at the bar if you want something to do. Maybe the kitchens. I’d rather not have you up front until I know you’re safe, or I could put you in touch with Hyunwoo. I’m not sure if they’re recruiting but …”

He was grasping at straws. Anything. Any way he could make Joshua stay. Anyway he could show him that he was protected right here, right now, and that Seungcheol would do anything to make sure he stayed that way. 

“What reason do you have to leave?” Seokmin piped up curiously but he shrank back a little when everybody’s eyes immediately snapped towards him. “I … I’m just saying. There isn’t much out there for people like us and Ma – I mean, Seungcheol – is giving us a life here … You shouldn’t kick a gift horse in the mouth.”

That wasn’t exactly how the saying went but Seungcheol was thankful for the effort anyway. Even if Seokmin’s tongue occasionally slipped and he called him ‘master’, it was still heart-warming to know that he was able to advocate for Seungcheol and his cause.

“I can’t,” Joshua mumbled, twisting around to retrieve his shirt from behind him and accidentally revealing one of the many things he’d probably been trying to hide.

Seungcheol had known there were wounds on his back when he’d rescued him from the bar and had noticed the bloodstains on his shirt but he hadn’t seen the damage for himself until now.

Whip marks. Some of them thin, white and faded over time but most them thick, pink and fleshy, probably from the same day Seungkwan had killed his abuser. 

They were already in the process of healing and there was nothing more that could be done for them but the sight still had fire blazing in the pit of Seungcheol’s stomach.

How somebody could do that to another human being was completely beyond him.

“Alright, everyone, give Shua and I a moment,” he ordered, countering each of their shocked expressions with a pointed glare until they got the hint and filed out of the room.

By then, Joshua had pulled his shirt back on and he didn’t seem to have even realised what he’d just disclosed to them. 

Wanting to introduce a less intimidating atmosphere, Seungcheol sat cross-legged on the bed and Joshua smirked as he mirrored him. 

It was a lot like the night they’d first met: Seungcheol making sure Joshua was safe and comfortable and Joshua relying on Seungcheol to give him a sense of security, even if it was only for a short while.

“Here,” the leader said, taking out his gun and disassembling it in his lap. “Release, clear, reload. It’s how I relax. Just keep your finger off the trigger and we’ll be fine.”

He handed over the firearm and watched with a softened smile as Joshua fiddled with the release slide.

“This is very you,” he mumbled after failing to get the magazine back in the well.

He tried a couple more times but it just wouldn’t stay so Seungcheol took it back from him, hit the bottom with the heel of his hand and then returned it with a chuckle, “I can teach you.”

“I don’t see how this could be relaxing for anyone but you, Coups,” Joshua countered even as he slid the release once more, caught the magazine, cleared the round and shoved the mag back into place, waiting for the click before pulling back the top to reload.

Like a natural.

“You can call me Seungcheol … Cheol,” Seungcheol offered, drawing one of his knives from his belt and twirling it in his grip. 

“Cheol,” Joshua tested on a small smile, watching with a kind of amused infatuation as the blade danced over Seungcheol’s scarred fingers before returning to his disassembling and reassembling of the gun in his hands. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a friendly conversation.”

“Well, I’m always up for friendly conversation,” Seungcheol grinned, dropping the knife and leaning back on his hands to make himself more comfortable.

“You shouldn’t let your guard down. I know how to shoot.”

“I don’t doubt it.” 

Seungcheol had a feeling this boy knew his way around a fight – guns, knives, hand to hand – and therefore he knew that, if he wanted to, he could put several bullets in his head, but Seungcheol was willing to test this newfound friendship.

He didn’t know much else besides the fact that he really wanted Joshua to feel secure around him. He wanted to trust his loyalty. That, and also Seungcheol knew that Minghao was directly outside the door and wouldn’t hesitate to kill if he heard anything that could possibly be perceived as a threat.

And Minghao perceived almost everything to be a threat. That was another thing Seungcheol was still working on. 

“You know I can’t stay,” Joshua reminded him, punctuating the statement with a resounding click of the loaded magazine.

“And why is that?”

Seungcheol closed his eyes, further putting himself at risk with the gun loaded and Joshua feeling this beaten down and emotional with the scars on his back and the bruises on his face.

“I … I don’t want to stay anywhere for too long. I don’t know who’s out there and … you’ve been kind to me. I don’t want anything to happen to you because people are looking for me.”

“Do you think I’d ask you to stay if I couldn’t protect you?” Seungcheol mused, cracking one eye open and watching as Joshua nervously nibbled on his bottom lip. “I mean, from what I’ve seen, you can take pretty good care of yourself but so can I and I’m not prepared to let anything happen to you.”

The kid was so strange. He had so much fight and spirit and yet he was still so soft and gentle and Seungcheol could tell he’d been through hell but he wasn’t bitter about it. The only time he’d shown true hostility was when he was defending himself.

“I … Just –” 

“I won’t force you, Shua … but know that you always have a place here.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol echoed on a sigh. “Go have a shower. I’m going to have to keep a stash of clothes here for the next guy I find.”

Joshua chuckled at that, a glorious sound that was quickly nullified by a wince as his injured ribs gave a painful twinge, “You’re a real Bona Fied dad.”

“Go take your shower, Shua,” Seungcheol growled with no real heat and an exaggerated narrowing of his eyes before getting up off the bed and heading for the corridor.

He could hear Joshua laughing as the door closed and that sound alone was enough to tell him everything he was putting himself through right now to make sure these kids were safe was worth it.

\--------------------

Seungcheol didn’t know what woke him up. There was just a difference in the air, like something was messing with the atmosphere itself within his dark room. He kept his eyes closed, breathing even, as he listened for whatever it was that had entered his room.

It could be one of the kids or Seungkwan coming home from his shift or Mingi looking for Soonyoung but, somehow, he just knew that it wasn’t anything like that. That somebody was here when they really shouldn’t be.

A shadow crossed the backs of his eyelids and that was the confirmation he needed to alert him to the fact that a person had just left his room. He opened his eyes slowly, just in time to see the door close.

Glancing across at his phone, he saw no lights, no messages, and it wasn’t like IM not to know when an unidentified intruder had broken into someplace they really shouldn’t have been able to. He couldn’t quite believe it but somebody had honest to God infiltrated his base.

Rolling silently out of bed and sliding his feet into his boots, he scooped his gun up from the table and cracked the door open, forcibly kickstarting his sluggishly sleepy brain before he had to face whatever battle was about to go down.

The hallway was still. No lights, no movement. Nothing.

His phone buzzed softly on the bed sheets, casting a ghostly glow over the ceiling, and he scooped it up before the noise could alert somebody else, squinting down at IM’s code as it flashed up on the screen.

“I think you have a breach.”

“You think?” he hissed into the speakers.

“Well … I have readings on the motion sensors but nothing on the cams.”

What the fuck?

“Well, whoever it is, they’re inside. Do you see anything?”

“Uh … no … The cams are down. My servers have been acting up for a few days now.”

“The cams are down?” Seungcheol echoed in dry disbelief.

“I’ll send Shownu,” came IM’s nervous reply. “You’ve got Hoshi, Seungkwan and The8, haven’t you?”

“Uhhuh,” Seungcheol murmured before abruptly hanging up and pocketing his phone in case IM needed to call back.

There was no way whoever was in the house hadn’t heard that conversation and, if they had any sense, they should try to run now that they knew backup was coming or, at least, now that they knew their presence had been identified, but the halls were still empty. 

Seungcheol headed for Seungkwan’s room first. The kid was fast asleep, or he looked like he was, until he suddenly sat bolt upright with his gun pointed right at Seungcheol’s head.

“Fuck,” he breathed, lowering the weapon and giving the leader his best glare. “I could have killed you.”

“Get your shoes on. We have a breach.” 

Seungkwan’s eyes widened but he clamoured out of bed without question and followed in their tiptoeing trek down the hallway towards Seokmin’s room.

“Wake him and stay with him,” Seungcheol instructed, ensuring that he heard the lock click as Seungkwan closed the door before leaving the two of them unguarded. 

There was no way of knowing who this was or what they wanted. They were clearly experienced beyond anything Seungcheol could have expected if they’d managed to hack IM’s servers, shut down the cameras and infiltrate the building without tripping an alarm.

It couldn’t be an attempt on his life since the shadow had been standing right over his bed and hadn’t killed him. And it couldn’t be that pharmacist since Seokmin had now officially been bought off his hands but Seungcheol still wasn’t prepared to leave him unprotected.

He doubted it had anything to do with Minghao either. Or Soonyoung. So that left Seungkwan and Joshua, and Seungcheol wasn’t sure which one of those was worse. He could only hope that leaving Seungkwan behind in that room wasn’t a mistake.

A door to his left sprang open and Joshua came scrambling out into the hallway, straight into Seungcheol’s arms with his eyes wide and his movements erratic as he glanced around for any sign of a threat.

“What’s happening?”

His breathing was too fast for somebody who’d just woken up. He’d probably realised somebody was here the same time Seungcheol had and had just been waiting for the moment he perceived to be safest to come out. 

“Here,” Seungcheol said, passing him a gun. “You said you can shoot so if you see someone you don’t know, blow their head off.”

Joshua stayed on his tail as they made a silent beeline for Minghao’s room but, as expected, neither the kid nor his sword was there.

“Seems The8’s on his trail,” Seungcheol muttered under his breath and Joshua gave a solemn nod even though he probably wasn’t paying attention to much more than the building tension around them.

The two of them padded down the stairs to the living room but came up short when they noticed Soonyoung standing in the hallway, gun in hand, back to them.

“You made it,” he said without turning around.

“Where are they?”

“The8’s searching the medbay. I have no clue who our guest is,” Soonyoung whispered, finally glancing over his shoulder and looking Seungcheol up and down before handing over his own gun and pulling a smaller piece from his waistband.

A glint of white flashed across the wall over their heads, a clear indication that Minghao was close by, the light from an outside street lamp reflecting off his sword. It was one of the reasons why Seungcheol wanted to teach the kid to use a gun instead.

He was about to signal when the first shot went off.

The bullet was suppressed but it shattered the silence nonetheless and the thud that followed was even louder, followed briefly by a series of curses that sounded suspiciously like Hyunwoo.

Shit.

The second shot made way for the sharp clatter of steel hitting concrete and everybody in their little huddle stopped breathing. 

It was obvious what had just happened. Soonyoung knew, Joshua knew, and Seungcheol couldn’t breathe.

Minghao and Hyunwoo had both been shot and the rest of them were sitting ducks in the darkness of the hallway.

One of the upstairs doors opened and the sound of footsteps came thundering down the hallway before Seungkwan rounded the corner with a breathless gasp of, “What was that?”

Joshua’s reactions were shockingly fast, even in Seungcheol’s opinion. If the boy hadn’t jumped on Seungkwan and tackled him to the floor then one or more of the bullets that suddenly pierced the air around them would definitely have hit him.

Bits of plaster rained down from the holes punched in the walls and Seungcheol dropped to a crouch, pulling Soonyoung down with him. Whoever was shooting at them wasn’t from Seoul, that much was decipherable.

The arms’ dealers in the city preferred to sell much smaller weapons. The obnoxious semi-automatic rifle this person was using was notoriously difficult to obtain and, therefore, usually avoided by anybody who wasn’t seriously skilled.

The rattling shots finally ceased and that was when Seungcheol decided it was time to stop hiding. Gesturing for the others to stay down, he crawled out from behind the wall with his senses on the highest alert. This person could obviously see them but didn’t seem to have a vantage point in which to hit the ones who were left. 

He shuffled silently along the side of the sunken living room and spotted Minghao crumpled on the floor, his sword discarded just a few inches from his hand. It was hard to tell whether or not he was breathing and he wasn’t moving but Seungcheol couldn’t see any blood.

Hyunwoo was slouched in the entry hallway, looking as if the force of the shot had knocked him into the wall before he slid down the plaster to crash onto the floor with his chin to his chest. There was no blood on him either. 

“Boo,” someone whispered, right in Seungcheol’s ear, and he flinched so violently that he almost dropped his gun.

The room was suddenly flooded with light and it took several seconds of hard blinking for his eyes to adjust as he leapt to his feet, knees popping and gun rising to point in the direction of the intruder.

He couldn’t tell if it was a guy or an extremely tall girl. Most of their face was covered although the delicate slope of their nose was clearly defined through the material of the mask. They had shoulder-length black hair pulled into a kind of half ponytail, leaving the rest to dust at the chains dangling from their slender neck.

Seungcheol decided that, if the broad shoulders and lean muscle was anything to go by, the intruder was definitely a man. A black-clad, boot-wearing, gun-toting man with a fucking death wish.

He didn’t give it any further thought. He squeezed the trigger.

It was almost like a bad move scene. Before he’d even taken aim, he could already see the man moving and when the gun did fire, he was no longer there.

What. The. Fuck. 

There were many things Seungcheol would say he was good at, few he would boast about, but one skill he knew for sure was how to shoot. He never missed. He’d never missed in his life. When his father handed him his first gun at eight years old, he could strike a line of beer cans from ten feet away.

He was a natural. Gifted, his mother had said between disapproving tsks.

“That’s not very nice, Coups,” the trespasser said.

His voice was light, airy and slightly accented, although his nationality could have ranged from German to Czech and anything in between and, again, the fucker knew who he was.

“What do you want?”

“Honestly … a place to sleep for the night,” the man provided with a disinterested tone, as if he hadn’t just shot two of Seungcheol’s friends. “And then I suppose I’ll tell you where the people who killed the little ninja’s family are.”

Seungcheol glanced over at Minghao’s prone body, his anxiety rising when the kid still showed no sign of movement. 

He wanted to call over his shoulder at where he knew Seungkwan was hiding, tell him to go get Seokmin, contact IM or Kihyun, get Hyunwoo and Minghao out of harm’s way, but he was totally stuck and that made him furious.

He’d never liked situations he couldn’t fight, talk or murder his way out of.

“You know who killed his family?” he snapped instead, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

The guy nodded, “But I’m exhausted. I could really use a nap.” 

“And just why the fuck would I allow you to sleep here? You’ve broken into my base, shot two people and claim to have information none of us have been able to acquire for months.”

He felt like he was about to blow a fuse as he watched the man ticking off the crimes being listed on a set of long delicate fingers, eyebrow quirked amusedly.

“You forgot one thing.”

Seungcheol didn’t wait for him to elaborate and fired again, this time only missing by a hair as the guy shifted a centimetre to the side. A centimetre, but still. He missed. Again.

Somewhere from behind him, he heard Soonyoung hiss, and he understood the sentiment. This guy posed an actual threat. He was clearly exceedingly experienced with a firearm and he seemed to be able to move faster than a bullet.

Everyone who was anyone knew that Seungcheol was one of Daegu’s most skilled marksmen. This close to his target, he should have been able to blow a hole between his eyes but this man could apparently predict where and when he would shoot.

When Hyunwoo woke up and IM showed him this footage, he’d agree that a bigger threat than a Choi was in Seoul and asking for a place to sleep. 

That was,  _ if  _ Hyunwoo woke up.

“As I was saying,” the intruder continued, this time pulling down his mask. “You forgot one thing.”

“What did I forget?” Seungcheol growled, committing the face of the boy in front of him to his memory.

After he killed the fucker, he’d track down whoever the fuck had sent him and kill them, too. Except it seemed that he wouldn’t be killing anybody tonight. 

The pretty boy standing before them had a definite advantage, an ace of spades that he decided to drop at the very last moment, ending this little game and all further arguments.

“I just poisoned the ninja.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who...


	11. The Darker Side

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Seungcheol roared, taking several steps forwards and brandishing his gun in the pretty boy’s face. “What did you use?”

His eyes flickered down towards where Minghao still lay and suddenly the lack of blood made sense. This guy hadn’t wanted to kill them. At least, not right off the bat. But, somehow, this was worse than if he’d just shot bullets through their bodies.

“It’s slow-acting,” Pretty Boy hummed, not even batting an eyelid despite the presence of the firearm in his face. “It won’t kill him for at least twelve hours. I promise.”

Seungcheol was torn between pulling the trigger for a third time and falling to his knees beside Minghao’s body. If he was in pain, if he was suffering then he needed to know so he could figure out how intensely to torture this fucker in an attempt to get the name of the poison.

“What do you want?” he growled for the second time, still keeping his gun raised and aimed.

Pretty Boy arched an eyebrow, drew in a long breath through his nose and glanced around, as though inspecting the place, before finally reiterating his terms, “A place to sleep and a promise that I won’t be disturbed or attacked while I do. Once I wake up, I’ll give you the antidote.”

Fuck.

He was holding Minghao – and possibly Hyunwoo – hostage, playing with their lives in return for a couple hours’ rest? He was willing to shoot a child just so he could get something he could have found on the streets or at a hotel?

“Coups.”

Seungcheol nodded, indicating to whoever had just crept up behind him that he was listening even if he wasn’t prepared to take his eyes off Pretty Boy and his infuriatingly smug smile.

“I checked Shownu,” Soonyoung muttered under his breath. “He’s not waking up.”

They were trapped. If they killed this guy, they were killing their friends. If they let this guy sleep here for the night and he ran away before they could get to him, they were killing their friends. There was no way out and Pretty Boy knew it.

“Take him,” Seungcheol hissed, still without shifting his gaze from his new nemesis’ face. “You and Shua, get him to the med bay, lock the door and don’t open it until I give you the chop shop’s codeword.”

Soonyoung’s presence immediately disappeared from behind him, followed swiftly by a couple of grunts, a series of shuffles and then the unmistakable sound of two people supporting a much larger body between them as they walked.

Hyunwoo wasn’t small. They would need a head start if they were going to stand a chance of getting him to safety and it was taking all of Seungcheol’s self-restraint not to grab Minghao up in his arms and run to the nearest hospital if that was what it was going to take.

Pretty Boy still hadn’t broken eye contact.

“Who are you?”

“Don’t you think it makes it more exciting if you don’t know?”

“No. Who are you? And how do I know you won’t shoot me in the back the first chance you get?”

The intruder smirked, folding his arms over his chest and taking a confident step forward so that the barrel of Seungcheol’s gun was pressed right against his sternum. 

All it would take was one twitch but this guy would probably still manage to dodge out of the way in time, and then Minghao and Hyunwoo’s lives could be over.

Pretty Boy leaned forwards ever so slightly, tantalisingly, before whispering the words, “Because I would have done it already.”

He was right. He’d had every chance. He’d been in Seungcheol’s room, had him cornered in the hallway, they’d been standing here for God knows how long and he hadn’t made a single attempt on the leader’s life.

“You there?” Seungcheol called over his shoulder, hoping that Seungkwan understood it was he who was being summoned.

“I’m here.”

“Get DK.”

It was the first thing he could come up with in such a time-sensitive situation. Seungkwan had been there when Seokmin told them that the pharmacist used to refer to him as ‘Dokyeom’ and Seungcheol was not prepared to reveal anybody’s real name in front of this very dangerous and very deadly stranger.

“Take him to the medbay.”

“Yes, sir.”

Seungkwan was light on his feet and so it was almost impossible but Seungcheol just about made out the sound of retreating footsteps before there was, once again, complete silence and he was left alone with his best friend’s body and the person who’d poisoned him.

“You can have the night,” he grimaced in defeat, slowly lowering his gun and slipping it back into his belt. “But if you try to run, if you try to get out of this without telling me what you put on the pellets you shot my guys with, I will hunt you down and I will rip your throat out.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised that the threat seemed to have no effect on the recipient. He had no fear. And Seungcheol didn’t use that term lightly. This guy truly, irrevocably, undeniably, was scared of nothing.

“Thanks,” Pretty Boy nodded with a childish singsong tone before shouldering open the door to the living room and disappearing inside.

For a moment, Seungcheol was too stunned to move, half expecting another attack to come as soon as he lowered his guard but the seconds ticked on and there was no sound from behind that door and Minghao’s time could be running out.

“Okay,” Seungcheol whispered under his breath, crouching down beside his kid’s body and rolling him gently onto his back so he would be easier to pick up. “Okay, I got you. Come on.”

The boy was light as feather, almost too easy to throw over a shoulder and Seungcheol tried not to think about just how underweight he must be and how much more he should be feeding him as he padded down the hallway, keeping one hand secured around the kid’s legs and the other clutching his sword.

There was still an intruder in his house – in the very place he should feel safest – but there was nothing he could do to remedy it and that … that was terrifying.

\-------------------

Seungcheol was pacing by the locked door, constantly stopping and listening for any signs of movement from the other side, when he heard the first groan rumble up through a slightly constricted-sounding chest and, instantly, everybody was on alert.

Hyunwoo’s eyelids were crinkling, nose scrunching in discomfort as his head rolled about on the pillow and one very clumsy hand fumbled its way up towards his face. Seungcheol and Seokmin were both by his side in seconds and, therefore, they were the first ones to see the bloodshot whites peeking out from beneath heavy lids.

“How are you feeling?” Seokmin asked, shining a penlight in Hyunwoo’s eyes and eliciting a grumbled moan of irritation for his efforts. “Do you know where you are?”

It took several moments but, finally, Hyunwoo seemed to come round enough to shape his lips into coherent words, “Coups?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol confirmed, giving his friend’s shoulder a tight squeeze. “You’re in the med bay.”

“I got shot …” Hyunwoo mumbled confusedly, trying to lift his head but clearly finding it too strenuous. “The fucker shot me …”

But he was okay. He was awake, he was making sense – or, at least, as much sense as someone could make in his situation – and he was showing absolutely no visible signs of any poison. 

“It was just a tranq,” Seungcheol concluded aloud, brow furrowed in a split second’s confusion before he reiterated his point to Hyunwoo. “It was just a tranq dart. You’re fine. You’ll feel pretty shit for a while but you’re going to be fine.”

Hyunwoo didn’t respond. He was probably still too out of it to properly comprehend what had just been said to him but Seungcheol wasn’t even worried when his eyes slid closed and he went back to sleep. Because that’s all it was: sleep.

Minghao, however, was still unconscious so whatever supposed poison had been in those darts had apparently been able to work through Hyunwoo’s metabolism much faster than it had with his. 

Seokmin was still checking him out, though, tapping against his chest and pulse points, prying his eyes open and even checking his gums as Soonyoung and Seungkwan watched over his administrations with their mouths turned down in grim frowns.

“I can’t find anything wrong with him in terms of poison,” the pharmacist finally concluded. “His breathing’s fine. Heart rate, too. No sweating, no dilation of pupils, nothing that could indicate any drugs in his system. It’s like Hyunwoo. He’s just … asleep.”

“So it really was just a regular tranquiliser?” Seungcheol questioned, feeling his anger beginning to grow despite the relief that was steadily flooding his mind.

Seokmin nodded, “Like alcohol, drugs work through different body types at different rates. Hyunwoo processed it much faster because of … well … size, age and stuff.”

He didn’t mention the obvious. Minghao was tiny. His entire frame was about as thick as Hyunwoo’s arm and therefore it would take a lot longer for his skeletal body to work the sedatives out of his blood.

“So why did he say it was poison?” Joshua murmured, almost to himself.

He hadn’t left Minghao’s side for a single second in the couple of hours they’d been locked in here, absently carding his fingers through the boy’s darkened hair, much like he had for Seungkwan all those nights ago. 

Seungcheol supposed it brought him peace to comfort others in times of stress.

But his question was a good one. One that Seungcheol would very much like to know the answer to. Regardless of the obvious lie about the poison, Pretty Boy still had information that they needed and, really, all he’d asked for was a night to rest.

Seungcheol could give him that. That was manageable. The problem that had his hands tingling, blood boiling and nerves on fire was the fact that this kid had so easily infiltrated his base undetected and that he was able to dodge fucking bullets. He could also temporarily shut down computer systems, use several different types of guns and gather intel like no other.

If that wasn’t fucking scary then Seungcheol didn’t know what was. Who the fuck was this guy?

“Has IM been able to find anything?” he asked, turning to Soonyoung since Hyunwoo was still out for the count.

The boy huffed a mirthless chuckle, “All he told me was that the guy doesn’t exist. He ran facial recognition from the cams in the living room but he isn’t listed in a single database on the planet. The guy’s a ghost.”

“But he doesn’t seem to want to hurt anyone,” Seungkwan mused, and Seungcheol was inclined to agree.

He could tell that this guy had been holding back. He hadn’t tried to kill any of them, just flush them out and create some leverage for himself. Still, he had been in all of their rooms, silently watching them breathe.

It was like it was a game to him. He’d wanted an audience with Seungcheol the entire time but, rather than calling like a regular person, he’d showed them that he was capable of something far greater and a lot more sinister.

Unlike Soonyoung and Hyunwoo who could offer him something; Minghao, Seungkwan and Seokmin who he’d saved; and Joshua who he’d actually wanted from the start, this Pretty Boy had nothing but the promise of information to offer. He didn’t need protection and Seungcheol definitely – as in really truly – didn’t want him there.

The boy was young, fit and skilled and, usually, he would jump at the opportunity to have somebody like that on his team but, as things were right now, he was a little too wary to employ someone who had shown that he could potentially kill them all in their sleep. 

“Tell me the moment IM gets something,” Seungcheol ordered as he stormed towards the door. “Soonyoung, you should get your guys on it, too. I’ll have IM send them the pictures.”

“Where are you going?” Joshua called after him, sounding more than a little panicked from his residential spot beside Minghao’s head.

Seungcheol sent the two of them a quick glance and the most reassuring smile he could conjure up at that moment. If his kid – _his_ kid – didn’t wake up soon then he would kill the Pretty Boy, ghost or not.

“I think the bastard has slept for long enough,” he stated as he pushed the doors open.

The living room was empty when he got there and his heart leapt into his throat, gun already in hand just before he saw the kitchen lights glowing from beneath the door frame, golden fingers stretching across the hallway floor.

The strong smell of coffee greeted him as he stepped over the threshold and saw Pretty Boy hunched over on a stool by the island in the centre. He looked uncomfortable, as though he was in pain.

His hand trembled as he brought the mug to his lips and gingerly sipped, the other hovering over his chest without touching it. It was a motion Seungcheol was familiar with. There was a wound under there; a healing one that still ached and couldn’t be touched.

It had probably been more than a little aggravated by the standoff they’d held a few hours previously. There was no blood visible on the front of the black T-Shirt he wore so at least he didn’t appear to need medical attention anytime soon. 

“I thought you said you needed sleep,” Seungcheol declared accusingly as he marched into the room, raising an eyebrow at Pretty Boy’s weak chuckle.

“I grabbed an hour,” he shrugged, voice light despite the slight tremor in his movements that gave away how hurt he actually was. “That’s more than I’ve gotten in a while.”

He was still slouching forwards, showing no indication of shifting even an inch to either side any time soon so Seungcheol resigned himself to sitting across from him and pouring his own cup of coffee. He didn’t want to but he wouldn’t be Seungcheol if he didn’t reach out to someone in obvious pain.

His mother had always loved his gentle spirit. He’d killed men, a lot of men: traitors, gangsters, businessman, pimps and drug dealers, and he would do it all again but, despite all the souls he carried on his shoulders, he remained gentle.

His father always said that wasn’t normal, that it wasn’t right, but his uncle considered him like a soldier at war. _You don’t have to be a monster to kill._ Either way, Seungcheol was always gentle with anybody he came across, especially if he could see they needed help.

Stifling a sigh, he hopped down from his stool and sidled over to the kitchen cabinets where Seokmin kept a load of drugs in with the fruits. Something about the chemical balance that Seungcheol couldn’t give two fucks about.

He pulled out the stash of oxycodone, shook one into his palm and slid the single white powdery tablet across to Pretty Boy, sitting back down and picking up his mug so he could watch the kid from over the top of his drink. 

The boy raised an amused brow but nodded his thanks as he took the offering and swallowed.

“Now …” Seongcheol started, setting his cup back down on the marble surface and folding his arms in front of him. “You have information that I need.” 

“I’ll give it to you,” came the grunted reply as the speaker sat up a little straighter in his seat.

He was striking, the proud owner of a face Seungcheol wouldn’t consider easy to miss. Like Joshua, he was overly pretty – bordering on feminine – but, unlike Joshua, there wasn’t a single bruise or scar on him. Not even a chipped tooth, not even an acne blemish. 

His teeth were incredibly straight and he bore the height and size of somebody who had lived a good life. He may even be descended from some kind of royalty.

If IM couldn’t work something out then Kim Taeyeon’s cousin had access to more extensive search software. It would cost him a lot to bring her on board but he was willing to try if it meant he could figure out who this kid was.

“But if I do, I’ll need somewhere to stay for a bit,” the boy continued softly. “Just … somewhere safe for a little while.”

Seungcheol had always found it hard to say ‘no’ to somebody asking for help and, in that moment, Pretty Boy didn’t look like the guy who had threatened their lives. He looked like a kid. A kid not too dissimilar to all the rest of them: scared and lost and all on his own.

“Tell me what you know and maybe we can work something out,” Seungcheol offered.

Pretty Boy took a breath and pushed his coffee aside, tracing the swirling patterns in the granite of the counter with his finger.

“I was with them … when they went after his family. He’s really skilled with a sword and my boss thought it would be a novelty to have him. He was the target the entire time.”

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes at the mention of Minghao, “Why were you with them?”

“My former boss isn’t like the usual,” Pretty Boy laughed. “His methods are … unorthodox.”

That didn't exactly answer the question. 

“But they didn’t get The8?”

The boy looked up to meet Seungcheol’s gaze, eyes glinting with amusement at the use of the codename before he shook his head, “No, I threw them off _Minghao’s_ trail. I felt bad for the little guy when they slaughtered his entire family. I helped him get out.”

“You helped him?”

“Yes. He won’t recognise me now but yes.”

“And now … what? You want to take your former boss down?”

“And save the ones who didn’t make it,” came the nod of confirmation. “I was always a favourite so I didn’t get quite as many punishments as some of the others, but when they realised I was the one who helped … well …”

He trailed off and Seungcheol saw the way his hand once again hovered over his chest. Clearly, whatever kind of sanction he’d undergone had been damaging and painful beyond imagination. Seungcheol didn’t address it.

“Who was your boss?”

“He’s only known as Takashima. His gang is massive but they move in small circles underground, mostly fighting rings and arms dealing.”

The name itself didn’t ring a bell but Seungcheol knew he’d eventually have to go back to Kwan but he hadn’t thought it would be this soon. Takashima was Japanese, a nationality known for the merciless way they fought in the ring, almost like they had more to prove and less to lose.

“How did you get out?”

“I have my ways.”

Seungcheol sighed in frustration, “You aren’t very forthcoming with personal information, are you?”

He still didn’t even know his name. Where he’d come from, why he was here, how he’d gotten in, the reason behind all the peculiar things he’d done in the few hours since they’d met.

“What do you want, a life story?” the boy laughed incredulously but, when Seungcheol didn’t say anything, he let out a sigh. “I was ten when Takashima found me. He killed my family like he did with all those other boys and took me from Japan to Korea. He trained me personally and I was his favourite. We travelled a lot, took other boys and trained them, too. The punishments were brutal and I had to help sometimes in order to protect myself, but then we heard about Xu Minghao and his exceptional sword skills. He was twelve. Takashima wanted him so we went for him and you know the rest.”

Seungcheol shook his head.

“Nice try. Your accent is good but I’ve been around Hao long enough to recognise Mandarin. So if you’re lying about being from Japan then what else are you lying about?”

The boy had the audacity to smirk. This was a game to him and he seemed pleased that Seungcheol was agreeing to play along.

“I’m not lying about Takashima,” he admitted.

“Helpful.”

Try as he might, this kid wasn’t going to give up anything he didn’t want to and it left an uneasy feeling in Seungcheol’s gut but he could accept the secrecy if it meant getting the man who haunted Minghao’s nightmares and making him pay.

“At least give me your name,” he tried, reluctant to sound like he was pleading but pretty desperate for something on his new ally.

“Why? To look me up? You won’t find anything.”

He was right there. IM was pretty damn impressive on a keyboard. He should have been able to find this kid in a heartbeat but he’d been blocked at the first hurdle and that was what made Seungcheol so angry.

“Look …” the boy sighed, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. “I’m not trying to be difficult. It’s just … safer. If I’m going to join this mission, we’re going to need to trust each other and believe me when I say that I’m protecting you by keeping my mouth shut.”

Seungcheol scoffed. He didn’t need protecting. He’d never needed protecting in his life and yet something about the way this boy spoke and moved and breathed told him that, maybe, there was a darker side to the world that even Choi Seungcheol himself hadn’t experienced.

“Okay,” he agreed at last. “But tell me two things.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did you lie?”

“About?”

For fuck’s sake, he was more than difficult.

“About poisoning Hao and Shownu, about Japan, about everything else you’ve lied about?” 

The kid’s eyes glinted, “It’s fun.”

“It’s fun,” Seungcheol echoed with a sigh. “And what’s your name? If we won’t find anything then it shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

His new companion seemed to think it over for a moment. Maybe he was weighing out the pros and cons of revealing such a precious piece of information or maybe he was thinking up another lie to tell but, either way, he came to a conclusion fairly quickly.

“Wen Junhui.”

Seungcheol raised his eyebrows sceptically.

“Right now, it’s Wen Junhui. Sometimes it’s Moon Junhui. It’ll probably be something different in the future. I’ve had to change it a few times in the last few years but that’s the name that I have now.”

“Alright, Junhui …” Seungcheol tested, the syllables rolling off his tongue fairly easily. “I’ll have to run it by the rest of my team but, for now, you can stay.”

That was the first time he saw the boy genuinely smile.

\-----------------

Minghao woke up about the same time that Hyunwoo was ready to start walking around and neither he nor Seokmin seemed to have much of a problem with Junhui which surprised Seungcheol seeing as Seokmin thought the world was out to get him and Minghao was simply out to get the world.

On the other hand, the possibility of the new addition didn’t sit well at all with Soonyoung, Seungkwan or Hyunwoo. Joshua didn’t seem to want to pick sides although he did hide behind Seungcheol when Junhui was introduced to the room.

“He know where people who kill my family is,” Minghao declared from where he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, a little too unstable to attempt walking anytime soon and speaking as if that was all the argument he needed.

Seokmin was more fascinated with what was in the tranquiliser darts and Soonyoung conceded simply because Junhui offered information that he couldn’t, but Hyunwoo remained resolutely on the fence.

“He hacked IM’s system,” he argued stubbornly. “He could have killed Minghao with that dosage and we still know nothing about him.”

And when Jooheon, Hyungwon and Kihyun arrived at the base, the latter’s reasoning was as simple as, “Who the fuck shot my boyfriend?”, and that was how Seungcheol found out the huge muscle machine and the tiny mouse man were an item.

Hyunwoo was standing, thank God, but it was clear that he was still trying to get his wits about him. His eyes were glazed and, every now and again, he would sway a little on the spot but with Kihyun’s grip on his elbow, he managed to keep his stability. 

“Actually, I only disabled the cams,” Junhui piped up defensively. “I didn’t hack his system. That must have been somebody else.”

“Oh, well, fuck,” Hyunwoo rolled his eyes. “There is something he can’t do.” 

“It can’t do any harm to keep him around,” Jooheon offered up in response. “We’ll put him in the room next to yours so you’ll know the moment he moves and we can get extra cams on that hallway.”

Junhui nodded along in agreement but Seungcheol could still see the smirk stretching his lips. He knew all these procedures and measure wouldn’t do a damn thing if he really wanted to massacre them all.

“I can stay here for a while,” Mingi cut in but Soonyoung shook his head.

“We need you at the shelter this week. Shipments to oversee and the back rooms need to restock.”

“What about me?” Kihyun asked, still with a steadying grip on Hyunwoo’s arm that probably wasn’t needed anymore and yet wouldn’t be moving anytime soon. “I can stay.”

It was Hyungwon who rebuked his offer, “Minhyuk is gonna need someone close by now that he’s out of the hospital and you’re the only non-tactical that we have right now.”

“Hey … I’m plenty tactical.”

“Don’t we know it,” Jooheon added under his breath.

One of the doors upstairs opened and then closed just as softly, too quiet for anybody but Seungcheol to catch onto the movement. Seokmin was napping in his room, Seungkwan had gone to the bar and everybody else was here with him so that left Joshua.

Junhui’s head swung towards the ceiling with a quirked brow before swiftly refocusing on the meeting and Seungcheol was starting to believe the guy was a vampire. He certainly seemed to have some sort of super hearing, not to mention the super speed, and no one else had noticed the creaking door or shuffle of feet.

Leaving the others to argue back and forth about Kihyun’s tactility, or lack thereof, Seungcheol slipped out of the room and crept into the hall just in time to see Joshua padding down the stairs.

A heavy weight seemed to settle in the pit of his stomach even though he knew he should have been expecting this.

“You’re leaving.” 

Joshua flinched and spun to face him, fist half-raised in preparation to fight before he recognised the person standing in the hallway and mumbled a shameful, “Yeah.”

“Will you come back?”

“I don’t know.” 

The only emotion Seungcheol felt that was stronger than his frustration was his sadness. Joshua was free of a potentially life-long captivity in which he’d been beaten and abused and degraded and rented out to the highest bidder against his will. He had to learn that it was okay to make his own decisions and go wherever he wanted to go without fear of punishment.

But Seungcheol wanted him to stay so badly. He wanted to give him the world he’d been deprived of since childhood but, even if their relationship had strengthened in the last twenty-four hours, Joshua still didn’t trust him enough.

Last night must have been too much for him. He was probably terrified of somebody else breaking in as quickly and easily as Junhui had and taking him back to another monster like Donsang.

Seungcheol opened his mouth to protest but felt his body just deflate before he could utter the first syllable.

“Remember what I said,” he settled on in its place.

“I know, Cheol,” Joshua nodded without making eye contact. “Thanks.”

He really did look pained to leave but, in his mind, he felt like he was doing the right thing. Seungcheol knew better but, for this boy’s sake, he hoped it was the right thing, too.

Taking a risk, he took a step forwards and almost drew back when he saw Joshua making a conscious effort to hold still. He smiled, as warmly as he possibly could, and then stretched out his arms, not wanting to initiate contact if it wasn’t wanted.

Joshua didn’t like to be touched. He didn’t like people in his space either but, at the sight of the invitation, his breath stuttered and he tripped forwards, landing in Seungcheol’s arms and holding on just as tightly.

He was shaking.

“Be safe,” Seungcheol whispered in his ear. “Please, be safe. If you get into trouble, come back. If you can’t find a place to stay, come back. If you’re hungry, come back. Even if you just want somebody to talk to, come back.”

“Okay.”

They drew apart and then, just like that, Joshua was gone.


	12. Loan Shark's Gremlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ****PLEASE READ****  
> Hello, everyone, this is MinYun. I'd like to preface this by saying that if there is an issue with this note or anything I may have to say now or in future please address me and not Anonymous_Introvert.  
> This is not usually the platform for such things but neither of us are particularly active on social media. I'm sure you are aware of the current issue taking place in the states and I hope we can all find a way to be useful and help our fellow men. I hope we are all willing to speak up for people who are being quieted and censored and attacked at every turn.  
> Neither of us have the correct links for petitions, we are aware that there is a lot of false information going around. please if any of you have the correct links send it to my dms on twitter they are open and I will post them under our chapters until something can be done. Also if it isn't too much please follow the tags... #BLM #BLACK_LIVES_MATTER

“Is it clean?”

“Y-yes, sir, Mr Coups. I wouldn’t dream of compromising your credibility like that.”

Seungcheol hummed sceptically but took another swig from his beer bottle nonetheless. Of all the things he thought he’d have to deal with at this stage, Park Seonghwa wasn’t one of them.

He had expected that, by now, he’d be calling Shownu to collect Junhui’s body or at least Wonho to help him rip the boy’s limbs off but, so far, and no matter how uneasy Junhui made him feel, he had proven himself to be an asset. 

Throughout the course of the three and a half weeks he’d been here, he’d taught Minghao some more sparring techniques which, combined with the kid’s speed and agility, had turned him into an even greater weapon. Or a threat. It really depended on his emotional state at any given time.

Junhui had also shown Seungkwan how to work his way around a few of the larger guns. Seungcheol had no idea where the firearms were coming from but several types of machine guns, shot guns and even sniper rifles had somehow made their way into his armoury and, by now, Seungkwan had a fair understanding of all of them.

Seokmin had learned how to properly measure out drug dosages based on his patient’s size and gender which had resulted in them changing Minghao’s prescription medication. Junhui had also passed on his knowledge of suturing and had even gone as far as meeting with local grocery store owners and having them donate to Soonyoung’s shelter to keep up stocks.

Even Hyunwoo was coming around, although Kihyun was still a little miffed about him being shot, even if it had just been a tranquilliser. 

But, no, Seungcheol wasn’t _dealing_ with Junhui. In fact, Junhui had just departed this morning to follow up a lead on Takashima in the hopes of being able to pin down his location. Seungcheol should have been with him but, instead, he was here dealing with Seonghwa.

His new bartender had been running a profitable small-time drug trade right underneath their noses and no one had noticed.

“Well, at least the drugs are clean,” Seungkwan added from his position behind the bar as he absently polished a couple of empty glasses. “He hasn’t been stealing, which is more than I can say for Jisung, and he does good work. I have no complaints.”

Seungcheol inhaled a deep breath, drumming his fingers against the side of his bottle as he scrutinised the sheepish boy standing before him, “Who’s your supplier?”

“His name’s Wooseok, sir. I’ve known him forever. He used to sell to my boss back when I was a … um … a slave,” Seonghwa responded in that timid voice of his, so quiet that, had there been anyone else in the bar, Seungcheol probably wouldn’t have heard him.

Seonghwa’s reality was a harsh one. All their realities were. Nobody found their way into this life without having some kind of scar, whether it be physical or emotional.

Seungcheol masked his grimace by once again raising his bottle to his lips. Seonghwa was a smart kid, not very scrappy, not very loud, but he had an air about him that made him seem older than his sixteen years.

The bumpy pink scar running from his temple to his chin was a constant reminder of what he was and how he’d landed in this life but it didn’t seem to affect him in the same way it seemed to affect Joshua.

They’d lived similar lives and they were both strong but in very different ways and Seungcheol couldn’t fault the kid for using his brain to earn a little extra.

“Okay,” he sighed, setting his Soju down on the bar counter. “Let’s make a deal.”

Seonghwa glanced up at him, a little subdued, as if he was expecting a beating that he wasn’t necessarily afraid of.

“I’ll have Minhyuk set up something proper for you and you’ll operate out of my bar. That means you’re on Seungkwan’s books and, if you’re on Seungkwan’s books, you’ll still get paid but I get a cut, too. Let’s call it 60/40 plus commissions, yeah?”

Seonghwa blinked, as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening, but after a second’s bewildered consideration, he nodded his understanding.

“You give me a contact for this Wooseok, we’ll get a proper shipment schedule going and the both of us are in business, okay?” 

The kid nodded again, a hopeful smile beginning to dawn on his face that Seungcheol couldn’t help but reciprocate.

“Now, being in business with me … You know my allies, you know my guys and so you know that, if you fuck up, you’re dead, yeah?”

“Yes, sir, Mr Coups … S-Sir, I won’t let you down.” 

He looked practically ecstatic, as though he were a kid who’d just been given free range of a candy store instead of a teenager with permission to start peddling drugs, and Seungcheol would have been lying if he’d said the sight wasn’t at least a little bit cute.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed instead, waving a dismissive hand. “Expect a call tonight after your shift. Go suit up.”

He expected the boy to scramble in his eagerness to get away but he didn’t. He stood, smooth and controlled, and took Seungcheol’s empty bottle with him as he disappeared through the door into the employee’s area behind the bar.

“He’s good,” Seungkwan mused with a small chuckle.

Seungcheol agreed. He was good. So good that he wouldn’t mind bringing him onto his team fulltime but it was already enough that he worked here and, besides, he wasn’t in any danger. His master had actually put him out so he was safe unless a pimp decided that the scar on his face wasn’t severe enough to rule him out as a potential worker.

If that happened, Seungcheol was fairly certain that Seungkwan would put a bullet through the bastard’s head. 

It was almost time to open. They were setting up a little earlier today due to a business meeting that Mingi was supposed to be overseeing in the VIP lounge upstairs, but he was running late with last minute errands and Minghao hadn’t gotten back from his meeting with Chong Tingyan, the Chinese arms dealer. Being the only one in the group besides Junhui who could speak Mandarin, Seungcheol had been forced to send him solo. 

His phone buzzed against his thigh and he drew it out with a roll of his eyes at the sight of IM’s code flashing across the screen. He didn’t have a problem with the boy but he’d found that he almost always called with half news and semi explanations, expecting Seungcheol to do the rest on his own.

He couldn’t really complain though. IM didn’t work for him.

“Yeah?”

“We found the person who’s been hacking my servers.”

“Congratulations. And I’m being called because …?”

There was a pause from the other end of the line.

“Because … well, technically … he’s your property.”

\-----------------------

Seungcheol’s uncle often said, “If you want something done right, do it yourself. It doesn’t make you any less of a leader.” Seungcheol should have paid better attention to that bit of advice the night he sent Minghao, Hyungwon and Mingi out to find Seungkwan’s husband.

Now there was a boy in front of him. Deceptively small. Short. Pale. He could be a Min.

Both his wrists were wrapped in dirty bandages that were stained a distasteful rusty brown and his mop of messy, unwashed dark hair tumbled over his eyes and almost reached his shoulders.

“Explain,” Seungcheol sighed, addressing the rest of Hyunwoo’s team dotted around the shop.

“Well, IM tracked down the signal, we got a location and found him half-frozen in an abandoned car not far from here, hacking cams with a shitty laptop,” Jooheon rushed out.

“But IM said he’s mine?”

Seungcheol was tired of being thrust into this situation. First Joshua, then Seokmin, and now this kid. He didn’t want slaves. He already had to deal with the pharmacist slipping up and Seungkwan giving him a dirty side eye whenever he didn’t correct the mistake. 

“Yes, well, this little gremlin was the one I freed from the loan shark’s basement,” Hyungwon added, and Seungcheol felt his mouth fall open in a silent ‘O’ shape.

Now it made sense.

“I won’t fucking call you ‘master’, you fucking asshole,” the boy suddenly growled, glaring up at them through the greasy locks of his tangled fringe.

His voice was raw, probably due to the cold and the fact that he didn’t look like he’d had a meal or a drink of water in quite a while. Seungcheol couldn’t tell if he was just naturally skinny like Minghao seemed to be – no matter how much they fed that kid, he wouldn’t fucking grow! – or if he was meant to be stocky before whatever happened to him happened.

“I’d never ask you to,” Seungcheol shot back, keeping his words calm and level as he pulled up a chair and took a seat. “But you need to answer my questions.”

“Like fucking hell I do!” the kid hissed, throwing off the blanket that had most likely been draped over his shoulders by Kihyun, but before he could take a step, there was the unmistakable sound of half a dozen guns being cocked around the room.

Releasing a sharp breath through his nose, Seungcheol raised his hand and motioned for his allies to lower their weapons as well as for the boy to sit back down. It took a moment but he finally seemed to realise there was little other choice.

“Alright, let’s try again. Name?”

“Woozi,” the boy growled.

This time, the gun was pressed directly against his temple, Jooheon smiling – dimples and all – as if his hand wasn’t the one holding a lethal weapon against the boy’s head.

“Lee Jihoon,” he amended with a poorly-concealed whimper. So he wasn't a Min. They didn't have any side branches with the title Lee.

“Good,” Seungcheol praised. “I’m S.Coups, this is Shownu and his team.”

Jihoon’s eyes widened slightly and, for once, Seungcheol was actually thankful for his name and for Shownu’s credibility.

“Now, can we be civil?”

The only response he received was a minute nod but it was enough to convince Jooheon to lower the gun and retreat several steps so that he would no longer be perceived as such an imminent threat.

“Why were you in the loan shark’s basement?”

“Identity theft,” the kid spat, as though the words tasted bitter on his tongue, but despite the front he was putting on, he kept his eyes screwed shut and his bandaged hands cradled in his lap. “I got about 2.5 billion won out of his accounts before he caught up with me, tied me up with razor wire and sent his fucking goons to cut a little deeper into my wrists every day until he cut my hands off.” 

“Poor kid …” Kihyun mumbled from somewhere in the corner.

And, for whatever reason, that made Jihoon snap, “Fuck off, you fucking hobbit. I’m seventeen!”

“Did he just …?” Kihyun scoffed incredulously, looking as if he was about to pull his gun right back out, but Shownu grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his chair before he could continue. 

“So you’re good with computers,” Seungcheol concluded, ignoring the whispered lovers’ spat that was currently going on behind him.

“Well, yeah,” Jihoon quipped, as though it was obvious. Which, to be fair, it was. “I know my way around.”

Seungcheol leaned back in his seat and hooked one leg over the other, cocking his head to the side and squinting at the child before him as though he were the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. He was certainly high up on the list.

For whatever reason he’d been stealing, probably for food and survival, it had resulted in a pretty brutal bought of torture that had been set to last for days or maybe even weeks. He was clearly traumatised and injured yet he still had one hell of a mouth on him.

“Well, you owe me,” Seungcheol declared after a few moments’ silence. “The shark’s books are mine now so I’m short 2.5 billion won.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes, “You don’t scare me, Coups. Sure, you’re a notorious marksman but you’re also a notorious softy. If you’re gonna be taking over Seoul, you need to work on your reputation and stop being so fucking nice to every sap with a sad story.”

Seungcheol smirked at that. The kid wasn’t wrong.

“You’ve kept tabs on me.”

“I keep tabs on every upstart and big-name crime lord, mob boss, mafia king, skin trader, pimp and ring leader in Seoul. Although I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting any of them face to face,” Jihoon teased, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. “To be honest, I thought you’d be taller.”

So had Seungcheol’s father.

“It seems like this is what you need,” IM spoke up from the couch by the window where he’d been silently observing since Seungcheol had arrived. “You have a tech room so you might as well hire him to work in it.”

He had a point. Jihoon was exactly what he needed but, so far, he’d only recruited people that needed him, not the other way around. Yes, technically, Jihoon was now his to release or hold hostage as he pleased but Seungcheol had a feeling that he wouldn’t cooperate unless he really wanted to.

“Let him go,” he sighed in defeat, eliciting a squeak of shock from Jooheon.

“What?”

“I said let him go,” Seungcheol reiterated, standing from his chair and cricking his neck. “He’s not my prisoner, he’s not my slave, he doesn’t need me so he can go.”

“What about the 2.5 on the books?”

“Count it as dead money.” He didn’t need it anyway, not with the income from Seungkwan’s bar and now from Seonghwa’s drug business. “I have to go. Junhui and Minghao should be back at the base by now.”

He gave Jihoon one final glance before pulling out his wallet, handing over a couple of bills and then strutting out to his car.

\----------------------

Junhui and Minghao were, indeed, in the training room when Seungcheol returned. They weren’t sparring. Instead, Minghao was swinging a pair of nunchucks around his body, movements graceful and flowing like water, as Junhui looked on fondly.

Occasionally, he would offer a couple of tips in Mandarin but glanced up when Seungcheol folded his legs beneath him and sat down at his side.

“Progress report,” the leader said in way of greeting, eyeing the fluidity of Minghao’s technique as the batons danced playfully around his torso.

“Weapons dealer say ‘yes’ to requests,” the kid relayed without faltering in his training. “She start next month for first shipment.”

“I’ve got a lead,” Junhui offered up when Seungcheol looked to him. “But we have an event to attend.”

He procured an envelope out of buttfuck – because apparently that was something else he could do – and handed it over.

“What event?”

“It’s a fight club where the rich and famous gather once a month to bet on their faves. Your guy, Kwan, should be there. Rumour has it Takashima has two new fighters this month so there’s a high chance he will be, too.” 

Seungcheol let out a soft groan. He despised occasions where he couldn’t wear his boots and hoodies. A casual getup was by far better suited to his preferences but he had no chance of mingling respectfully if he was underdressed.

“How many tickets have you got?”

“There are five in there,” Junhui supplied. “Do you need more?”

“No, this should be fine. Who do you suggest we bring?”

Junhui smirked and shrugged, “I’m not the boss, Coups. I’m also not your second. You should consult Hyunwoo.” 

Seungcheol didn’t want to waste anymore of his internal monologue time on musing just how strange he found Wen Junhui, so he gave up on trying.

“I’ve got you, Minghao, and I’ll take Hyunwoo and Wonho,” he said instead.

“Smart choice, but can Wonho fit in a suit,” Junhui deadpanned, an all-too serious blow that caused Minghao to snort and miss the baton as it twirled around his stomach.

He made a loud and comical _‘oomph’_ sound as the missile connected with his abdomen, bringing him to his knees on the training mat as Junhui laughed, loudly and lyrically. And before Seungcheol knew it, he was laughing, too.

\--------------------

“Perimeter breach,” IM hissed in Seungcheol’s ear from the other end of the line.

“Fuck, again?”

“I know, you’re a real popular guy. At least I called before they got inside this time.”

“What do you want? A gold star?”

“Fuck off, Coups,” IM snapped as Seungcheol stalked towards his front door with his gun already in his hand. But, just before the kid could end the call, he caught a very brief mutter of, “Hoseok promised he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

Choosing to think about that particular gem later on, Seungcheol stepped up to the front door and removed the safety from his gun. They didn’t have a peep hole or anything that would help him identify who was out there, and IM hadn’t said but, suddenly, the hallway comms came to life with the crackle of a gravelly voice.

“It’s me, Coups. I figured you could use a hand after all.”

Jihoon. One particular factor Seungcheol had not predicted. He opened the door to see the boy pulling a headset from his ears and leaving it hanging around his neck as he wheeled his suitcase over the threshold.

“You came,” Seungcheol stated dumbly.

He had been berating himself just a few minutes ago for letting go of the only capable tech guy he’d found in weeks but, out of the blue, here Jihoon was, his angry little face pink from the cold and his wrists freshly bandaged.

“Yeah,” he smirked smugly. “I owe you 2.5 billion won.” 

“Yeah, you do.”

“I still won’t fucking call you ‘master’.”

“Good. Welcome aboard, Woozi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Links to help
> 
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-0KC83vYfVQ-2freQveH43PWxuab2uWDEGolzrNoIks/preview?pru=AAABcod_c7g*5rNQ6ITOabUly2LZbfCDkg
> 
> https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd


	13. Speak In My Ear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe, everybody  
> https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/

“So he speak in my ear?” Minghao asked curiously, prodding at the flesh coloured nugget in his ear canal until Junhui slapped his hand away.

“Yes, I speak in your ear,” came Jihoon’s voice from the other end of the comms and Seungcheol couldn’t help the fond smile from spreading across his face as Minghao flinched and spun around as though looking for the owner. “And I can also hear everything you say so don’t go badmouthing me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Junhui quipped as he took off his shoe, stuffed a switchblade in the toe and then put it back on again. “And, The8, I know it’s cool but try not to react every time he says something. It will give you away.” 

Minghao was clearly still in awe. His poor upbringing hadn’t exactly prepared him to deal with technology such as this and that was one of the reasons Seungcheol was glad they were trying it now.

This wasn’t exactly a mission. All they were doing was going in, snooping around and trying to gather intel in the hope that they would be able to identify Takashima and at least know who they were dealing with. Jihoon wasn’t actually needed but they were using the opportunity to get used to the little voice in their heads.

Seokmin was also in the tech room back at the base and he had Seungcheol’s number on speed dial. In the very unlikely event that Jihoon decided to double cross them and drive them into the arms of danger, he would be able to raise the alarm.

A sleek black Mercedes pulled up beside them and Hyunwoo and Wonho climbed out, large frames compressed into smart black suits not too dissimilar to the getup the rest of them had adorned and, as hard as he tried, Seungcheol couldn’t forget about Junhui’s insinuation that Wonho wouldn’t be able to fit into a blazer. The sleeves were certainly struggling a little.

“Alright,” Hyunwoo said, taking the two tickets that Seungcheol held out to him. “IM, are you paying attention?”

He paused for a moment, clearly listening to the voice of his youngest before both he and Wonho smirked, the elder of the two firing back with a playful, “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fallen asleep while we’re out in the field.”

The comms were all connected to the same stream so if either IM or Jihoon needed to contact the entire group in a hurry, all they had to do was press a button and they would all be able to hear each other. For now, though, the playful banter was thankfully confined to the chop shop’s wires.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Seungcheol rallied, turning to head towards the building in which the fight would begin only to pause at the flash of silver. “The8, you can’t bring that.” 

Minghao stopped, gaze switching between his leader’s face and the knife in his hand. It took a moment before he seemed to realise what he’d done wrong but then he tossed the blade back into the car with a pout and took a step forwards only to be stopped by Seungcheol’s hand.

“And the blow dart.”

The boy whined. Actually whined. Like a toddler deprived of his favourite toy. But, despite the reluctance in his posture and expression, he hitched up his pant leg and unstrapped the blow dart from his calf so it could join the knife in its solitary banishment on the back seat.

“Happy?” he grouched, swatting sulkily at the hand Seungcheol used to ruffle his hair.

He spat something in Mandarin and then stalked off after Hyunwoo and Wonho, hands stuffed deep into his pockets and shoulders hunched protectively up to his ears. Seungcheol fell into step behind them with Junhui at his side, sporting another one of his amused smirks.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Him,” Junhui provided, nodding at Minghao’s back. “He just called you a horse fart spirit.”

Seungcheol stared at him, waiting for the explanation which came in the form of a noncommittal shrug and an indifferent, “It’s funnier in Mandarin.” 

The term ‘underground fight club’ often reminded Seungcheol of the scene in  _ ‘Sherlock Holmes’  _ where Robert Downey Jr. took down a gang of thugs in a ring with a dirt floor while poorly-dressed Englishmen stood around them, cheering and shouting unintelligible slurs, drunk off cheap beer and adrenaline.

But being raised alongside the Mins had shown him just how extravagant these things could get.

The building was like a converted warehouse, hidden strategically in plain sight near the clubs and bars in the middle of Gangnam. A celebrity was always to be found somewhere on those streets, Kpop idols, actors, TV hosts and billionaires, who graced the covers of those stock magazines and always had something to say about the state of the economy.

The women were dressed in lavish gowns and expensive heels that must have cost more than Seungcheol’s car, and that was saying something.

“The8, stay close to me,” he ordered under his breath, glancing around.

Junhui seemed at ease. If he did work for Takashima before – because, honestly, Seungcheol still didn’t know which parts of the boy’s story were fictional – he was most likely accustomed to the crowd and gentle hum of conversation.

Hyunwoo and Wonho didn’t look particularly comfortable, and they stuck out. They appeared more like bodyguards with their black suits, white shirts and open collars. Minghao, however, was practically buzzing by the time they made it to the door. 

“You may want to keep an eye on the pretty boy,” Jihoon murmured and Seungcheol saw Junhui smirk, making a show of pushing his hair behind his ear and undoing the first button of his black shirt to draw the attention of several nearby men and women. “There are skin traders on your six.”

“Fucking unbelievable,” Wonho hissed under his breath.

“Don’t worry,” Junhui shot back, motioning amusedly to a gaggle of women dressed in long flowing dresses standing in the line right behind them, giggling and whispering to each other as they eyed the chop shop members. “They’re definitely watching you, too.”

“Focus,” Seungcheol hissed as the line moved forward again.

The entryway was as these things usually were: security cameras and gigantic bouncers at every corner, metal detectors and slaves with complimentary drinks. It was almost cliché but Seungcheol got through fairly easily. A little extra time was spent on Wonho and Hyunwoo before Minghao took his turn.

“Woozi … Do you have eyes on Jun?” Seungcheol whispered nervously before he felt the presence at his side.

“I’m right here. Calm down,” Junhui soothed, handing Minghao a glass of champagne that Seungcheol promptly took from his hand and gave to Hyunwoo. 

Minghao rolled his eyes but said nothing and they pressed effortlessly further into the building.

“Stubs?” a perky slave girl asked, holding out her hand to display the gold manacles that signified her higher rank.

Seungcheol gave her what she wanted, watching her take down the necessary information before pushing open the doors and waving them through with a radiant and genuine smile. She was clearly one of the few who got to eat three meals a day.

The main hall was nothing like Seungcheol expected. He’d been to underground fights before but nothing anywhere near this grand. Or big. It was even more crowded than the initiation ceremony Min Yeonjun had hosted for his eldest son when he’d moved to China to take over the flesh ring.

It was built like an arena, the rows slanted so that the back was highest and the best seats were closest to the ring in the centre. Not unlike the setup of a basketball game. And it was loud. Seungcheol would have expected people so untouchable and refined to be a bit quieter but it seemed outside rules didn’t apply here. 

“Our seats are at the front,” Junhui declared, making his way confidently down the aisle.

The ring was a round stage in the middle, surrounded by bulletproof glass that hadn’t even been cleaned of the blood already splattered there, some of it fresher than the rest. A bell was set up in one corner and the bidding booths on the other. 

“Looks like there’s already been a couple of fights,” Hyunwoo murmured as he glanced around at the various expensive bigshots, easily identifiable from the special box they were sitting in, flanked on all sides by their own private security. “IM, can you let us know when Takashima’s men are supposed to be up?”

Seungcheol scrutinised the VIP box as he took his seat, looking into every face and trying his best to get an accurate read from their appearances and body language.

“Is he here?” he muttered, leaning over in his chair to talk to Junhui. “Do you see him?”

“No,” came the instantaneous reply. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t show. He’s probably planning on making some grand entrance so everybody can see just how rich and fabulous he is.”

“Woozi?” Seungcheol whispered tentatively, wary of the people around him who could very well be listening in. “You’ve got eyes on the VIPs, right?”

“Right.”

“Can you run facial rec and background checks? Figure out if anyone of them are working with Takashima.”

“Gotcha.”

Minghao was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, eye movements slightly erratic and fingers drumming on his thighs. Seungcheol wanted to reach over and calm him but he was worried that any kind of physical contact would set the kid off now that he was already anxious and unsettled.

Maybe bringing him along to this particular event had been a bad idea seeing as he could very well come face to face with the person who had authorised the execution of his entire family. If Seungcheol were him, he’d be anxious, too.

A bell rang out, piercing through the hubbub and prompting a roar of appreciation from the spectators as three people climbed into the ring, two of them shirtless and barefoot with their knuckles wrapped in tape, and the other looking as if he might be the referee.

“Here we go,” Junhui murmured as the two fighters connected their fists in a gesture of comradery. “It’s about to get exciting.”

Not the word Seungcheol would use. He could agree that watching two people beat the holy hell out of each other had its moments but, in rings like these, there was no protection. No boxing gloves, no helmets, no gumshields. People died. Seungcheol had seen it happen.

The referee ducked out of the danger zone, the bell rang again and the fight began with a supportive cry of encouragement and bloodlust from the people in the stands as they jumped up, some of them on top of their seats, and screamed for their favourite at the top of their lungs.

Seungcheol chose to observe the crowd instead of watching the smallest of the two guys spitting blood onto the floor and, through the rowdy sea of waving arms and reddened faces, he caught a glimpse of Kwan making his way to the front of the VIP box.

The gold of his watch was glinting tantalisingly in the stadium light and his suit was very clearly worth several million won if the frequent flicks he gave to the shoulders and sleeves in an attempt to remove a single speck of dust were anything to go by.

A couple of the other guests stood up to shake his hand, inclining their heads as a mark of respect that Seungcheol was surprised by. Kwan was apparently a bigger deal than he’d initially thought but, then again, anyone who could pull off an evening like this had to be the real deal.

“Shit!” Junhui squawked on a laugh, drawing Seungcheol’s attention back towards the ring just as the smaller fighter hit the floor.

He wasn’t moving but his chest was heaving so at least he wasn’t dead. His face was a mass of blood and swelling and his opponent’s nose was quite disastrously off centre but he seemed to be lapping it up as he circled the ring with his arms in the air, feeding off the appreciative screams he got in response.

There were already people celebrating, a lot more than those who were commiserating, and Seungcheol took that as an indication that the smaller guy hadn’t been a favourite to win among the gamblers.

A pair of clerks dragged the unconscious kid out of the ring, showing very little concern for his wellbeing as they slung him about like a sack of potatoes, and Seungcheol tried not to think about just how much Junhui was enjoying himself.

Minghao was looking more and more agitated by the minute. It was a miracle he’d managed to go this long without snapping but they were on borrowed time. If some sort of lead didn’t show up in the next twenty minutes or so, they were going to have a very angry ninja on their hands.

Telling him to leave his blow dart behind was probably one of the reasons he was struggling to keep it together. He had no weapons and a Minghao with no weapons was a very unhappy Minghao.

The bell chimed out once again and another kid stumbled, a little clumsily, into the glass cage. His face bore a patchwork quilt of bruises, all of which at different stages of healing, his ribs were a painful-looking reddish purple and the way he moved foretold the amount of pain he was in.

The previous fight’s winner gave him the once over and cackled gleefully, as though he couldn’t think of anything better than getting to beat up somebody who’d obviously already been beaten up enough. The sight was sickening.

The bruised boy was about half the size of his opponent but, from where Seungcheol was sitting, he saw no fear on his face. He lifted his fists and balanced his weight on the balls of his feet, circling the ring like he was born to scuff his toes against its floor. This wasn’t his first rodeo, not by any means.

Seungcheol’s interest peaked for reasons he didn’t quite understand but then the bell sounded and he understood perfectly.

The kid was beaten to hell, sure, but the pain had been an act, a trick to throw his enemy off balance and give him a false sense of security so that, when the fight began, he could duck right underneath the larger guy’s arm and drive his elbow into the small of his back.

He was fast. And strong. Strong enough to make the other contestant stagger forwards a couple of steps before whipping around with his lip curled in a snarl of furious disgust. It was not an attractive expression but the kid didn’t even blink.

The big guy lunged forwards and before Seungcheol could even process what was happening, his head had snapped back and his gargantuan body crashed to the floor with an almighty thud, out cold.

Kwan had a smug smirk quirking his lips as he slowly clapped his wrinkled hands and Seungcheol saw the boy glance up at the box and breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of his boss’ approval. The adrenaline must have left him after that because his knees buckled and he sank onto the ground beside his unconscious opponent.

Junhui stuck his fingers in his mouth and let a loud whistle, laughing incredulously as he jammed his elbow into Seungcheol’s ribs and yelled out, “Bet you did not see that one coming!”

Seungcheol glanced over at him, preparing to say something about refocusing his attention on the operation, but before he could get the words out, Junhui’s face darkened and the grin slid right off his face.

“He’s here.”

The leader followed his line of sight and spotted the large guy with the sunglasses and the black fedora strutting arrogantly towards the front of the VIP box just so he could ignore Kwan’s gesture of greeting in favour of plonking himself down in his seat.

“Woozi,” Seungcheol murmured, but Jihoon was one step ahead.

“Yeah, that’s him, but don’t make yourselves too obvious. There are about three armed guys waiting in the lobby and another twelve stationed outside. Even if you could get a decent shot off, you’d never get out alive.”

Seungcheol hadn’t been planning on it anyway. He didn’t want to kill Takashima tonight. He didn’t want to kill Takashima at all. That honour would go to Minghao so he could finally avenge his family and maybe get himself a smidgen of closure. But Jihoon was right. They couldn’t pull that off here.

“Jun,” he ground out under his breath, determined not to alert Minghao to the fact that his worst nightmare was less than twenty feet away for fear that the kid would go ape. “Is there any way you can get a tracker on him?”

Junhui looked at him and raised one eyebrow, as if insulted by the mere insinuation that he wouldn’t be able to do something so easy.

“Okay,” Seungcheol appeased. “Watch yourself and cover your face. If he recognises you, it’ll blow the entire operation and we’ll have to abort.”

If he recognises you, you’ll die.

“Yes, sir.”

Junhui disappeared in a matter of seconds, filtering into the crowd with effortless grace and fluidity. Seungcheol caught Hyunwoo’s eye and received the nod of confirmation before he and Wonho rose from their seats and followed.

They would be nowhere near as discreet but if they kept an eye on the guards in the lobby, they would be able to take a couple of them out before things got really nasty. Hopefully, though, that wouldn’t have to happen.

Now it was just Seungcheol and Minghao but, surprisingly, the kid’s attention had not been diverted by the sudden absence of half his team. Instead, he was staring, mouth agape, into the fighting ring, all nervousness gone in order to make way for shock.

Bewildered, Seungcheol tried to trace his eye line and felt his own heart skip a couple of beats at the sight before him.

At first glance, he thought that the bruised boy who’d won the previous fight had been joined by just another scrappy kid who looked far too thin and fragile to be wrapped up in something so violent yet was probably more dangerous than all the other guys put together, but then the bell rang and the boys started to circle each other and that was when Seungcheol saw it.

Scars crisscrossing over his back like etchings on a canvas.

He squinted, trying to make out the face that lay beneath the overly long fringe of sweat-sodden hair, and recognised the eyes before anything else.

Joshua. 

Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who do you think the other boy is?


	14. Brace For Impact

If there was such a thing as destiny then theirs must have been intertwined. They kept meeting each other, kept ending up in the same shitty situations, kept stumbling into each other’s lives as if the world was determined that they write their histories together.

It had been almost four weeks since they’d last crossed paths but Joshua seemed to have been faring better than Seungcheol had worried. He’d put on weight, his bones no longer quite as prominent, and there was even a decent amount of muscle beneath his scarred skin.

He’d probably taken refuge with Kwan once again, only this time he’d been requested to earn his keep. He was a good fighter, that was for certain. He was small, deceptively skinny, quick on his feet and had one of the strongest mentalities Seungcheol had ever seen. Kwan would have snapped him right up.

The wave of spectators was going insane, as though this was the fight of the century, and Seungcheol wondered just how many times these boys had been in the ring in front of a crowd. Clearly, they both had reputations. This was probably the grand finale of the night.

“Joshi …” Minghao muttered under his breath, still gawping like he’d just seen somebody grow a second head. “Joshi fights?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol mumbled absently. “Apparently he does.”

The other boy looked exhausted. It was more than likely that this wasn’t his first tournament this week and, as a result, he would be in a lot of pain even without the fairly substantial injuries painted over his body for all to see.

Joshua leapt forwards, his fists a blur as he moved and even Seungcheol was impressed to see the other kid dodge a blow as fast as that. The two of them were of similar size and stature and their techniques held a decent amount of resemblance, too.

But Joshua was fit and probably healthier than he’d been in years whereas this boy definitely was not. He held out, though, for a surprisingly long time, darting around fists and leaping over legs and ducking when he needed to duck to ensure he stayed conscious.

It was the longest fight of the night. Their skills perfectly counteracted each other like they were bred specifically to spar until the end of time and Seungcheol could sense the rising tension in the crowd as neither body agreed to hit the ground.

Both of them were dripping in sweat, fringes clinging to their foreheads and faces bloody as they both stumbled into separate corners of the cage to catch their breaths.

Seungcheol couldn’t remember when but, at some point, he’d risen to his feet. It didn’t matter to him that Junhui, Wonho and Hyunwoo were risking their lives at that very moment. It didn’t matter to him that the murderer of Minghao’s family was in the same room.

The only thing that mattered was whether or not Joshua won this fight. Because if he didn’t, Seungcheol wasn’t confident he would manage to keep his knuckles unbruised for the rest of the night.

A chant had started up, both names being screamed into the void where they mingled and merged and then returned in one big mush of syllables that nobody would have been able to identify.

That was when the boy with the bruises looked up at the VIP box and that was when his gaze connected with Kwan’s and that was when Seungcheol saw the fear and desperation flash across his face.

Kwan’s eyes were blazing, any hint of amusement or enjoyment having vanished to be replaced with anger and disappointment. He was almost unrecognisable as the kind old man who’d helped Seungcheol save Joshua from a night of torture all those months ago.

The boy looked terrified, attention rallying between his opponent on the other side of the ring who was slowly readying himself for round two and the man in the stands whose gaze was burning some kind of hidden message into his mind across the distance between them.

There was a second. That was it. Just a split second where Kwan inclined his head, projecting some kind of signal over to his unwilling puppet, and the look in the boy’s eyes changed. Desperation became determination and fear became fury as he re-clenched his fists despite the horrific state of his knuckles and pushed off the glass wall back towards the centre of the ring. 

What Seungcheol had noticed that no one else seemed to was that Joshua had seen the exchange, too.

The fight ended barely two minutes later.

Joshua abandoned any and all intentions of attacking, focusing instead on defence just long enough for him to find the perfect opportunity to grab the back of his opponent’s neck and pull the boy’s face into his shoulder. To an outsider, it would have looked like some kind of headlock. To Seungcheol, it looked like an attempt at communication. 

The boy struggled at first, trying to wriggle free, but when Joshua’s lips started forming silent syllables amidst the sadistic scream of the crowd, he stilled to listen. Whatever words passed between the two of them in that moment determined the outcome of the entire evening.

They drew back, the bruised boy’s foot came up and then, just like that, Joshua was on the ground.

Minghao gave a yelp of shock and worry, springing to his feet and reaching for the sword he seemed to have forgotten he’d left in the car, and Seungcheol had to admit that the kick had looked particularly brutal.

But not as brutal as it could have been.

The entire stadium counted to three in unison, waiting for the moment when Joshua clawed his way to his feet and resumed the battle, but it never came. He stayed in his convincingly crumpled heap on the floor even after the bell rang out for the last time.

The referee grabbed the winner’s wrist and thrust it into the air to tumultuous cheers from the crowd despite the fact that it looked like the poor kid was about to keel over at any given moment. They didn’t care about him. Only about the money he was capable of bringing in.

Kwan met the boy’s eye, a subtle yet satisfied smile curving his lips as he nodded his approval, and Seungcheol saw the teenager’s sweat-slicked facial muscles collapse with relief at the miniscule gesture of appreciation.

His gaze zipped surreptitiously over to where Joshua still lay, pretending to be unconscious, but only Seungcheol witnessed the ever so ghostly movement of his lips as he mouthed the words, ‘thank you’.

They’d thrown the fight. They’d staged it. And Seungcheol had a feeling he knew why. 

“Shownu, you got eyes on Jun?”

“No.”

Shit.

“But the guards haven’t moved. If he’d been caught, they wouldn’t be sharing cigarettes right now. I think he’s good. For now, at least.”

Seungcheol nodded solemnly even though he knew Hyunwoo couldn’t see him. He had to put his faith in Junhui because God knew the kid was good at what he did. If anybody could drop a tracking device on a psychopathic mob boss and get out without being detected, it was him.

“The8 and I are going backstage,” he relayed under his breath as he and Minghao vaulted over the front row of seats amid the chaos. “There’s somebody we need to talk to.”

He was telling himself that Joshua might have information about how regularly Takashima visited the club but, really, he just wanted an excuse to see the kid. He would be officially embarrassed to say that he’d missed him but, luckily for him, Minghao seemed to be just as excited.

The dressing rooms weren’t guarded, the majority of security having been stationed at the doors and around the VIP box, so they slipped under the metaphorical yellow tape without encountering a single issue or confrontation.

“Joshi hurt …” Minghao was mumbling under his breath. “Joshi hurt bad.”

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Seungcheol tried to tell him but the kid wasn’t listening.

If he had his sword with him then that poor other kid would be chopped up into tiny little pieces by now. Seungcheol wasn’t worried though. There was no way a kick like that would knock somebody straight out. It had been too weak, too fake.

Joshua was fine, and when they finally opened the right door, they realised he was more than fine.

“Fucking … worthless … piece of shit … Doesn’t feel good, does it?”

There was a man on the ground, shrivelled, with his arms over his head and his knees drawn up to his chest as Joshua stood over him, driving his foot into the guy’s ribs over and over and over again with a snarl of fury on his bloodied face.

The other boy, the one who’d been victorious, was shrunken into the corner, hugging his abused stomach and watching the vicious assault with widened and misted eyes that may or may not have been blinking back tears.

Seungcheol was momentarily stunned, unable to believe that the person he was looking at right now was the same one he’d found trembling and traumatised in that auction room. 

What brought him back to reality was Minghao springing forwards and joining in the attack.

“Stop!” Seungcheol yelled, plunging into the thicket of the fight and prying the little Chinese kid away from his victim. “Both of you! Stop it!”

Joshua gave the man at his feet one last – and particularly brutal – kick in the ribs before obeying Seungcheol’s order and stepping back, sweeping his sodden fringe out of his eyes and spitting a foul concoction of blood and saliva onto the floor.

Minghao was still wriggling in his leader’s grip, probably suffering some kind of withdrawal from having gone so long without killing something, and Seungcheol took him by the skinny shoulders so he could spin him around and speak to his face.

“You don’t even know why you’re fighting him!”

Minghao sent him a look of disgust, “It matters?”

Making a mental note to hold another discussion with that kid at a later date, Seungcheol released him and instead turned to Joshua, gesturing towards the whimpering man curled up on the ground in front of them.

“What did he do?”

Joshua was still seething, eyes narrowed and dangerous as he glared at his beaten victim before grinding out his explanation through gritted teeth, “He’s an asshole.”

Seungcheol resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “I gathered that much.”

“Tell him,” Joshua said, glancing over at the boy who was still cowering in the corner. “Tell him what you told me. It’s okay. He’s trustworthy.”

Seungcheol felt an unfamiliar pulsating glow of warmth settle itself in the pit of his stomach at those words. He’d thought Joshua hadn’t felt safe enough with him to stick around but, apparently, he’d been wrong.

The boy took a step forwards, wiping a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb and never taking his eyes off the figure on the floor as he spoke in a timid and tremulous whisper.

“He’s, like, my … my manager. He … chooses when and who I fight.”

“And if you don’t win?” Joshua prompted, hands still curled into fists at his side. “What does he do to you if you don’t win? Or if you say you can’t fight that day?”

The boy lowered his gaze shamefully, tightening his grip on himself as he mumbled out the words, “He hits me … a lot.”

Of course, he did. Of fucking course, he did. How else did you force a child to take on half a dozen trained fighters in one day? You threatened him with violence. In the kids’ own words: a lot of violence.

“Kwan runs this place,” Joshua hissed, looking up at Seungcheol with a different kind of emotion battling for dominance in his eyes. “He lets this happen. After everything he saw me go through, he lets this happen. He actually condones it.”

Betrayal. That’s what it was. Hurt and betrayal. Joshua had trusted that man only to discover that he wasn’t so different from the one who’d bought, beaten and abused him for over half his life. Who wouldn’t feel betrayed?

“It’s just business, Jisoo,” came a cool, snide voice from behind them. “You can understand that, right, Coups?”

Seungcheol spun around, internally cursing himself for letting his guard down and then externally cursing himself when he saw Kwan framed in the doorway, two large security guards flanking him on either side, each of whom had a gun to a hostage’s head.

“Sorry, Coups,” Hyunwoo ground out, his fingers interlocked behind his head and his nose steadily dripping a bloody faucet onto his shirt. Beside him, Wonho didn’t look much better.

Seungcheol had been sloppy. He’d let his own emotions take control and, as a result, two of his teammates had been captured. Now he was trapped. Him, Minghao, Joshua and this other kid, and Junhui had absolutely no backup.

“Son of a bitch …”

“I trusted you!” Joshua screamed, lunging forwards with every intention of doing some pretty serious damage if Seungcheol hadn’t wrapped both arms around his chest and kept him back. “I thought you were good! I thought you protected people like me!”

He looked on the verge of tears, struggling in his restraints as his chest and shoulders heaved with the effort of containing the fury that threatened to burst free.

“As I said,” Kwan crooned, approaching a couple of steps with his hands folded arrogantly behind his back. “It’s just business. I do what I have to do to make money and Wonwoo, there, is my best fighter. I can’t have him backing out every time he has a sore head. This is my livelihood we’re talking about.”

Wonwoo looked like he had a lot more than a sore head. A couple of cracked ribs, maybe. A fractured cheekbone, definitely. Calling it a ‘sore head’ was an insult to everything that boy had gone through in order to survive.

“Okay, Kwan,” Seungcheol growled, slowly releasing Joshua but keeping a restraining hand on his shoulder nonetheless. “You win. We’ll leave and we won’t come back. Just let my guys go and you’ll never see us again.”

Both Hyunwoo and Wonho looked irate, clearly beyond furious that they’d allowed themselves to be overpowered, not to mention being used as leverage in a mission that should have been a simple in-and-out.

“See, I don’t think I can do that,” Kwan continued sinisterly, any trace of that humorous glint in his eyes having disappeared to be replaced with something much darker. “You’ve committed a serious offence here, Coups.”

Seungcheol opened his mouth to retaliate but before he could get the words out, a smug little sneer trickled through the device in his ear and had him struggling to conceal a smile.

“Brace for impact …” Jihoon sniggered. “Three … two … one …”

The guard holding Wonho suddenly let out a strangled spluttering sound, blood bubbling and bursting from the gash in his throat as his entire body went rigid before crumpling to the floor with a heavy  _ thump. _

There wasn’t even time to blink before the guy behind Hyunwoo suffered the same fate, neck slit open from ear to ear just like his partner, splattering the back of the chop shop leader’s blazer with slick scarlet syrup.

Joshua took advantage of Kwan’s sheer surprise, reeling back his arm and putting as much strength as possible into the punch he dealt to the old man’s jaw. There was a sickening crack of knuckles on bone and Kwan was unconscious before he hit the floor.

“I leave you alone for five minutes!” Junhui sputtered from the doorway, wiping the blood from his switchblade onto his pant leg as though he’d just chopped up a few vegetables instead of murdering two grown men. “Five fucking minutes! How did you even survive before we met?”

It took Seungcheol a few moments to realise that the sound he was hearing was Jihoon laughing right in his ear.

“He’s right, you know.”

“You, shut up!” Seungcheol snapped in response but he couldn’t deny that he was relieved enough to let a smile slip. “Shownu, you guys okay?”

“Yeah,” Hyunwoo nodded, stemming the flow from his nose while Wonho gave his dead guard an irritable kick in the ribs for good measure. “A little embarrassed, I think it’s safe to say, but we’re good.”

“Jun –”

“Yeah, yeah,” Junhui interrupted, as though bored. “I put two trackers on each of his guards, one in his car and slipped another into his pocket when I pretended to spill a glass on him. We’ll know exactly where he is and when so long as he doesn’t find them.”

So at least the mission hadn’t been a total failure. They got what they’d come for without suffering any casualties. 

Joshua was still trembling even as he scooped two shirts out of a duffel bag on a nearby bench, pulled one over his head to conceal his bruises and his scars, and tossed the other over to Wonwoo.

Seungcheol was about to call out his name, unsure what he would even say but knowing he had to say something, but the series of stuttered gasps from the back of the room had him turning around only to feel his heart shatter.

He should have known.

Minghao had pressed his back right up against the wall, his face drained of every colourful ounce and his eyes filling with teardrops, gaze resolutely glued to the two dead bodies that were slowly and steadily staining the floor scarlet.

His family’s throats had been slit, too, and he was already on edge from being in the same building as the person who’d orchestrated it. Seungcheol should have kept a closer eye on him. Seungcheol shouldn’t have let him see Junhui do that.

“Hao …” he started, trading the kid’s codename for his real one in favour of getting through to him as he carefully crept forward. “Hao, look at me.”

Everybody else had gone silent, concern and guilt continuing to fester the longer that Minghao refused to respond, but Seungcheol tuned all of them out. The only thing that mattered now was this boy.

“Hao, it’s Cheol … It’s 2014, you’re in Seoul with me and Jun and Joshua … It’s 2014, Hao … You’re not there anymore … It’s not happening anymore …”

He didn’t want to touch him, fearful that any attempt at physical contact would set him off but it seemed the impending breakdown was inevitable no matter how hard any of them tried to deter it long enough to get somewhere safe.

“Minghao, I …”

Minghao let out a scream so raw and terrified and pitiful that it physically hurt Seungcheol to listen to it but there was very little he could do as the kid lurched forwards and started swinging fists in every which direction, spewing tearful slurs in his mother tongue.

Wonho tried to grab him, tried to stop him from hurting himself or anybody else, but got an elbow in his face and a knee in his gut for his troubles. And Minghao’s rampage went on.

He was too far gone to realise who he was attacking or even that he understood the language they spoke. His mind was no longer in the present but instead was hurtling backwards, swamped in the memories of that terrible night when he’d watched his loved ones die right in front of him.

They had to stop him, calm him down, get him out of here before his foreign screams alerted anybody to the commotion but there was no way of getting close enough without suffering some form of assault.

That was where Junhui came in.

He grabbed Minghao from behind, one arm looped around his neck and the other around his waist and, despite the viciousness with which the boy struggled, he held out and held on.

Seungcheol’s Mandarin was exceedingly limited and so he had no idea what Junhui was saying but he listened all the same, hoping that – when this happened again – he would be able to recreate whatever it was because it seemed to be working.

Minghao’s fight was weakening, tears rolling down his cheeks, and then he gave up entirely. He went limp and loose in Junhui’s arms, doubling over as best as he could with the grip still tightened around him as the gut-wrenching sobs ripped up his throat.

“We need to go,” Hyunwoo murmured in Seungcheol’s ear, nervously eyeing the door that Wonho was guarding. “IM says the crowd’s clearing out so, any minute now, somebody’s going to hear us. It’s too dangerous to stay here.”

Junhui gave a nod of understanding, ducking beneath Minghao’s arm and sweeping his legs out from under him. Surprisingly, the boy didn’t resist. He simply curled into his comrade’s chest, arms hooked around his neck and face buried in his shoulder, still crying quietly.

“Let’s go.”

Wonho went first, taking one of the guard’s guns with him while Hyunwoo followed behind Junhui with the other, both of them keeping a watchful eye out in case they needed to defend the two foreigners since they couldn’t exactly do it themselves.

Seungcheol grabbed Joshua’s elbow and tugged him away from Kwan’s unconscious body. He had no one now. Nobody to trust, nobody to lean on, nobody to take him in and feed him. Nobody except Seungcheol himself. There was no way he was leaving him here.

Just before he crossed the threshold, however, he stopped and looked back at the boy known as Wonwoo who was probably more terrified than he’d ever been in his entire life now that he’d just witnessed two murders, a pretty brutal assault and a full-on meltdown.

“You coming?”

The kid nodded eagerly, practically falling over himself to catch up, and that was how Seungcheol added another name to his team. 


	15. Runaways

Seungcheol would usually be happy to report that things had gotten quiet. Quiet meant no immediate danger. Quiet meant everybody was accounted for, healing, licking their wounds, regrouping. Quiet meant business was running as usual, as it should be. That was the nice kind of quiet.

But this quiet felt different. It was heavy and ominous and oppressive, settling like a deadened weight on everybody’s shoulders, and not a single one of them seemed to be immune to it.

Joshua and Wonwoo had started taking short shifts at the bar after the younger of the two confirmed that he wasn’t just a fighter. In fact, he wasn’t much of a fighter at all. He’d won all those battles because he’d had no choice, nothing to lose, but, from what Seungcheol had seen, the boy lacked any real technique.

He fought about as well Soonyoung, aiming mostly for the face and head in an attempt to knock out his opponent instead of striking the tender body parts like the sides, chest and legs, that would disable somebody long enough to get a properly damaging hit in.

Junhui would have it trained out of him in no time but, for now, Wonwoo seemed more interested in learning his way around Seungcheol’s books. He was quick to pick up on the business elements and had even helped Seungkwan to balance things out at closing time on more than one occasion.

He liked cats, too. And ice cream.

Joshua acted like he just needed a reason to be out of the base. He took four-hour long shifts alongside Seonghwa, who he’d grown relatively fond of, and then he would vanish God knows where only to show back up at the base around midnight. Seungcheol hoped he wasn’t doing anything dangerous but it really wasn’t his business to intervene. 

Minghao was the one who worried him the most.

It felt like the cloud that had settled over them was there mainly for him. He still followed orders, went to meetings, sparred with whoever and drank like a sailor but, other than that, he seemed like a shell.

He showed no further interest in going after Takashima. He didn’t eat, didn’t speak, and Seungcheol was positive he wasn’t sleeping. They were waiting for it to pass, for his meds to work through his system and balance his chemicals back out but it seemed that, this time, it was just too much.

Minghao was simply … broken. 

“Give me all your fours.”

“Go fish. Do you have any queens?”

“Go fish.”

Seungcheol sidled into the living room to, surprisingly, find Junhui and Hyungwon right in the middle of a very heated – and very suspicious – game of ‘Go Fish’. Unsurprisingly, a revolver sat on the table between them with all but one of its bullets removed.

Hyungwon had his long legs folded under him as he studied Junhui on the other side of the couch. He tilted his head back slightly as he raked his thick dark hair off his forehead. 

Seungcheol had always thought the boy had too much going for him to be caught up in a business like the chop shop. Not that the others weren’t good but Hyungwon was brilliant, resilient and beautiful, a combination that would open doors for him had he chosen a different living. 

He was still young. Maybe he still had the opportunity to be a success story. With any luck he’d take Junhui with him.

“This had better not be what I think it is,” Seungcheol warned sternly, drawing the attention of their two resident weirdos.

“Want me to deal you in?” Weirdo No. 1 asked.

“If we do, we’ll have to add another bullet to the gun,” Weirdo No. 2 pointed out.

Neither of them looked up from the game at hand and Seungcheol had to make a conscious effort not to rip his own hair out of his scalp.

“I am not looking forward to Kihyun peeling the skin off my shins for allowing Hyungwon to play Russian Roulette in my living room,” he sighed, narrowing his eyes when Junhui scoffed.

“The fuck said anything about Russian Roulette? We’re playing ‘Go Fish’.”

“Then what’s the gun for?”

“Loser has to use it on the next mission,” Hyungwon provided innocently as he snatched two of Junhui’s cards and added them to his deck. “We’re playing best of three and it’s a tie so the next person who wins gets to choose how many bullets you go with. Fives.”

“Go fish.”

“Firstly,” Seungcheol groaned, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose and his eyes closed for a moment of self-collection. “Jun’s cheating.”

“Am not!”

“Jun, you’ve never _not_ cheated. Secondly, nobody is going into their next mission with only three bullets.”

The two of them finally looked up, regarding him with the utmost contempt before Hyungwon leaned forwards and whispered with absolutely no subtlety, “Your dad is a killjoy.”

“Only because he’s afraid of your mom,” Junhui whispered back. 

Seungcheol threw his hands up on a muttered, “for fuck’s sake”, and stalked out of the room without saying another word on the subject, deciding to just let the weirdos wallow in their weirdness as he headed to the tech room.

“Great, just the person I need to see,” Jihoon said as soon as he walked in.

“What’s up?”

He pulled over a chair and sat down at his little tech gremlin’s side so he could see the computer. Jooheon and Wonho had stopped by the previous week to help him set up the monitors on the walls and now the room looked similar to NASA mission control.

On the screen was a map and on the map was a little blinking red dot.

“Did you find Takashima?”

“I never lost him,” Jihoon muttered dismissively. “That’s not what this is about. I may have narrowed down the drug shipment issue.”

Finally. They’d gone weeks without a solid lead after the last dregs of information they’d obtained had led them straight into a series of exceedingly infuriating dead ends.

“Who is it then?”

Jihoon clicked a few buttons, his tongue pushing up against the inside of his cheek, “I can’t be certain since I didn’t have eyes on them at first but it’s a pretty small gang. Does the name Sungjong ring any bells?”

Seungcheol wracked his brain for a couple of seconds but eventually shook his head when his mind drew a blank, and Jihoon nodded in solemn understanding.

“I didn’t think it would. He’s not even the head of his gang, his father is. You’ll probably know him: Lee Hyunsik. Well, Junior does his own side gigs and, whenever he’s in trouble, Daddy Dearest cleans it up for him.”

A couple of pictures popped up on the screen, all of them of the same smartly-dressed boy with windswept lavender hair and a chiselled jaw line.

Seungcheol had never tried colouring his hair. It was thick and dark and he generally kept it short. All his guys – except Jihoon who had dyed his red and Seungkwan who’d recently tried blonde – kept theirs black, too. It was far too conspicuous to have brightly coloured hair in their line of work.

Even Junhui’s shoulder-length cut and Minghao’s steadily growing mullet were a little more than Seungcheol would have been allowed back in Daegu.

“Can you get a wire for him?”

“Way ahead of you,” Jihoon muttered, procuring a small tracking chip from a box amid the clutter on his desk. “Tell Junhui to take backup. This guy doesn’t fuck around.”

“Yeah, I know,” Seungcheol responded grimly as he took the chip. “Minhyuk’s a testament to that.” 

When he returned to the living room, he found Junhui already fully-armed and tying his hair back while Hyungwon was strapping a small handgun to his ankle. Thankfully, the revolver and its distinct lack of bullets remained on the table.

Upon Seungcheol’s entry, Junhui held out his hand expectantly and it took the leader a moment to realise he was waiting to be given the chip because, of course, his super hearing would have alerted him to the new mission already. Seungcheol handed it over wordlessly.

“Do we have a location?” Hyungwon asked, fishing his phone from his pocket.

“Jihoon will send it to you. Did you tell Hyunwoo where you’re going?”

Hyungwon nodded once before both he and Junhui turned on their heels and marched straight out of the room.

Seungcheol would have been happy that Junhui seemed to be settling in and making friends if the friends he’d made were at least a little more … normal. Instead, he’d found the one person who could possibly be on par with him in his simple ability to not give a fuck.

Hyungwon was nowhere as sadistic as Junhui but he also never backed down. Ever. And that made the two of them a perfect yet seriously fucking dangerous combination. Seungcheol had to suppress a shiver just thinking about it as he took the stairs up to Minghao’s room.

“Hao, it’s me,” he called softly, waiting for the grunt of approval before pushing open the door. “I’m coming in.”

Seokmin had learned the hard way not to burst into the kid’s room. His arm was still healing from the gash it had sustained when Minghao tossed a knife at him.

The boy looked horrible. His hair hung limply over his face, his joints looked worryingly prominent and his complexion was sickly and dull, his eyes rubbed red and smudged with bruises.

Seungcheol sighed, “Hao …”

“Don’t,” Minghao hissed in response.

They’d had this conversation before and Seungcheol was running out of options.

“You need to tell me how to help you, kid. Don’t keep pushing me away.”

Minghao levered himself into a sitting position on the bed, visibly dizzy and distraught. Seungcheol understood that. He knew the feeling. It was a memory he could barely recall but he’d freaked out on his first mission, too.

He’d already been a seasoned marksman by then, had carried out several executions of his own, but something about seeing one done by somebody else right in front of him had made him sick to his stomach and he’d thrown up right in front of the entire regiment. His uncle had been understanding as always but his father had simply muttered a disappointed, “pussy”, cleaned the blood from his blade and moved on.

“Why?” Minghao whispered hoarsely and Seungcheol had learned to decipher his monosyllabic speech well enough to know what the question was. 

Why was he here? Why couldn’t he do this? Why did death scare him? Why did anyone care? Why was he so weak? Why couldn’t he forget? Why …?

Seungcheol perched on the edge of the bed and pulled him into the tightest warmest hug he could muster up. He almost cried at the feeling of the boy’s ribs poking up against his fingers, his hip bones rubbing against his stomach and his small skinny frame shaking with the force of his sobs.

“Hao, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything that happened to you but you’re doing good. Your family would be proud and they’d want you to be happy more than they’d want to be avenged.”

He had no idea what he was saying. He didn’t know the kid’s family or what they would and wouldn’t want but if Minghao was grieving for them like this, he had to have loved them with every fibre of his being. 

“We’re getting closer,” Seungcheol continued, gently rubbing his hand up and down the bony back. “You’ll get the person who did this. You’re strong enough, you’re brave enough. You’ll do this and I’ll help you. Jun will help you. Shua, Shownu, everybody, we’re all going to help you. If you think you can’t do it on your own, you have an entire family here behind you.”

Minghao nodded into his shoulder, sniffling a little and tightening his grip, and Seungcheol had to shove down the bitterness he felt towards his own father who he knew for certain he would never feel this way about.

He may even celebrate the day the man passed away. But his uncle and his mother … He would feel horrible about that. He knew what it was like to lose a family member. He’d seen plenty kick the bucket along the way, including his sister, but he had never grieved for any of them as strongly as this.

“Let’s get some food in you, Hao,” he said at last as they drew apart. “You’re too skinny.”

Minghao sputtered out a laugh filled with tears and snot, “My mother say that to me all the time. She say one day wind will take me away.”

“Well, your mother would want you to eat so come on, let’s see if Seokmin will make us some sandwiches.”

Seungcheol made to stand but a set of skeletal fingers wrapped around his wrist and he glanced down to see Minghao’s reddened powderpuff eyes gazing up at him. A fierce blush crept up his neck before he managed to mumble the words, “I love you, Cheol.”

Seungcheol would have ripped the stars from the sky for this kid because this kid was _his_ kid and he would do everything in his power to keep him safe and happy. 

“I love you, too, Hao. Now stop being a sap and let’s eat, yeah?”

Minghao perked up with a shy little smile before getting up and obediently trailing him out of the room.

\-----------------

With the wire planted on Sungjong, the quietness continued but, this time, it was nowhere near as heavy.

Wonwoo became a regular at the bar, fitting in seamlessly and, thankfully, keeping an eye on an increasingly troublesome Jisung. Junhui and Hyungwon spent almost all their time together, sometimes dragging Mingi – who they discovered had a weak stomach – along with them. In addition, they had a tendency of abducting Jooheon who wouldn’t admit it but, according to Wonho, had come back crying one evening.

Minghao was around a little more, if still a bit subdued, and Seokmin was quickly learning his way around the organisation even if he still didn’t quite know how to use a weapon.

Joshua still disappeared for hours at a time but it wasn’t long before his extracurricular activities were brought to light.

Seungcheol drew his attention away from the drug trade routes on his iPad to see his phone buzzing on the couch cushions beside him just as Jihoon threw open the conference room door.

“Shua’s been arrested.”

“What?” Seungcheol gaped, tossing the tablet aside and scrambling to answer the phone.

“Is this Choi Seungcheol?” a stern voice demanded from the other end of the line.

“Depends on who’s asking,” Seungcheol shot back.

“This is Officer Jung of the Mapo Police Station. I have your brothers in custody for vandalism of government property.”

“My what for what?” Seungcheol blurted in pure bewilderment, striding towards the entryway with Jihoon on his heels.

“Chwe Hansol and Hong Jisoo. You were their emergency contact. The bail is posted at sixty thousand won a piece.” 

Seungcheol let out a long and exhausted sigh, “Okay. Sorry about that, Officer. I’m on my way.”

He ended the call and shook his head incredulously, unable to believe just how stupid his guy had been to land himself in a prison cell where his entire livelihood depended on him not ending up.

“Shua’s in jail,” he mumbled dumbly as Jihoon rolled his eyes.

“I’ll call Seungkwan and get him to handle the bail. Go collect him.”

“He has someone with him,” Seungcheol called over his shoulder as he swiped his car keys from the hooks. “Look up Chwe Hansol for me.”

\------------------

Seungcheol drummed his fingers against the top of the steering wheel as he waited for Joshua and whoever that Hansol kid was to emerge from the station. He’d paid the bail for both of them but he was probably just going to end up murdering them anyway.

How fucking stupid could Joshua be? For obvious reasons, this situation was not ideal. The police tended to keep tabs on small-time offenders so they could dig up all their dirty little secrets if they ever progressed to bigger and badder crimes.

He’d have to get Hyunwoo and Soonyoung together and pay off a few inspectors and captains. They already had the mayor on their side but that may not be enough in the event of anything more serious turning up.

Through the windshield, he saw the police station doors open just before Joshua came running down the steps with a much younger-looking kid on his heels, both of them hopping swiftly into the back seat with muttered apologies as Seungcheol pulled out onto the street.

He took a few turns, silently seething behind the wheel, before parking in the lot of some closed down building and killing the engine so he could turn around and give the current banes of his existence his best glare.

“Care to explain just what the fuck happened?” he all but roared.

Joshua flinched, eyes downcast and hands splayed out on his thighs, and Seungcheol winced. He recognised that position as one a slave was conditioned to adopt whenever they were to receive a punishment.

Hansol, however, glared fearlessly back at Seungcheol with his jaw set in irritation, “What the fuck, man? Chill. If you want the bail money back, I can get it for you. There’s no need to be hostile.”

“You think I give a fuck about the money?” Seungcheol spat in disbelief. “What I want to know is how the fuck you got arrested, Shua. You know better.” 

“I’m sorry, Master,” Joshua whispered, and Seungcheol felt like his world shattered right then and there.

While Seokmin still struggled to remove the word from his automatic vocabulary, Joshua had never slipped up like that. Ever. The fact that Seungcheol’s yelling had scared him enough to revert him back to his training was singularly one of the worst feelings on the planet.

“Don’t you dare get mad at him!” Hansol snapped defensively. “He was only there because of me so back the fuck off, buddy!”

Guilt didn’t even begin to describe it and he was suddenly hurtling back into the same sense of shame he’d felt the night that he’d literally purchased Joshua at an auction. His outburst might have just set the boy back to square one in his deconditioning process.

Seungcheol hated disciplining people. He always had. It was more of Kihyun’s style and he had been beginning to wonder whether he could just send these kids over to the chop shop and let Hyunwoo’s boyfriend tear them a new one but now he would rather pull his own teeth out.

Trying to ignore the expression of hate-filled contempt on Hansol’s face, he took a deep breath and tried again, taking extra care not to raise his voice as he deliberately avoided addressing Joshua while he was coming back to himself. It wouldn’t help if he did.

“Hansol, your foster parents are clean. You’ve got a younger sister and you’re due to fly back to the States in a week. Why are you here vandalising property?” he asked instead, recalling the information Jihoon had provided him just before he left.

Hansol had lived in Seoul off and on. His mother was American, his father Korean and he’d split his time between their houses until his mother had suffered some form of psychotic break. His father had declared that he was too much trouble to handle and so he’d been turned over to the foster system where he’d bounced around families, never staying in the same place for more than six weeks.

His current foster parents were both successful business owners who clearly favoured their biological daughter over their not-biological son and couldn’t care less where he was sleeping or what he was doing so long as it didn’t interfere with their work.

Seungcheol could gather that the kid was just acting out, probably dealing with his birth parents’ rejection by setting trash cans on fire and graffitiing walls, and that was definitely not what his team needed right now.

All his kids were fucked up but, with the exception of Junhui, they were all well behaved and knew how to act in a civil society. Seungcheol needed a troublemaker like he needed a hernia. The kid had a criminal record, for fuck’s sake.

“Cheol …” Joshua interjected timidly, shoulders still slightly hunched as he looked up at Seungcheol like he might explode. “Please …”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was asking for.

“Shua, if we take him, it’s kidnapping. He has a family. He shouldn’t even be here.” 

“None of us should,” Joshua whispered boldly, the slightest hint of resentment replacing the fear in his tone.

Seungcheol knew he was right but that wasn’t the hand life had dealt them.

“Yeah, well, most of us had no choice. I’m not taking him in. I can get Jihoon to cover his records and he can go back home.”

“Cheol, please,” Joshua pleaded.

“Don’t fucking beg him,” Hansol hissed angrily. “You talked so highly of this asshole I was sure he’d be, like … different.”

He opened the car door and stepped out into the night air, throwing a spiteful, “Thanks for everything, Josh. I’m sorry your hero is sort of an ass” before slamming the door and stalking off. 

“What the fuck, Shua?” Seungcheol asked, but he kept the fury from his tone. He didn’t need to set the boy off again when he’d only just managed to pull himself back this time around.

“I’m sorry, okay? The kid was a mess. He thought it was a good idea to blow up the bins outside the police station and I was just trying to stop him. I know he seems like a brat but his foster parents are neglecting him and I’ve gotten to know him the past few weeks and I just thought …”

“You thought wrong,” Seungcheol chastised. “I don’t take runaways. I take people who need help … And Jun.”

“He does need help,” Joshua pressed, shuffling right to the edge of his seat with his eyes wide and imploring. “And he needs a family. I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll take care of him from my own pocket. I just need somewhere safe for us to stay the night until I find a place and I can’t go back to the bridge …”

His eyes misted over, clearly reliving the run-in with Soonyoung’s psychotic pensioner, but Seungcheol was too stunned to dwell on it.

“What?” he blanched. “I’m not putting you out.”

“But I won’t sleep in the base when I have you, Seungkwan, Wonwoo and Jun keeping me safe while he’s out there, tired and hungry and touch-starved. I’ve been there, Cheol!”

Joshua had started to raise his voice and it was a startlingly new development Seungcheol hadn’t thought he was capable of. Like Seonghwa, he only ever spoke in whisper soft words and stayed out of the way for fear somebody like Donsong would notice him.

It was a testament to how strongly he felt about the kid. Seungcheol didn’t know why that was but he wasn’t about to compromise the small and painstakingly fragile relationship he’d managed to build with Joshua over the past couple of months. Besides, Hansol had said Seungcheol was the boy’s hero and he wanted to live up to that.

The kid was apparently good at blowing stuff up which meant he was good with explosives. It would definitely come in handy to have a bomb expert in his court.

“Go get him,” he sighed in defeat, rolling his eyes and turning around in his seat to stare tiredly out of the windshield. “Make it quick. He can stay in the bunker with us but I’m definitely sending him to Kihyun to learn some manners.”

“Thank you,” Joshua gasped just as the radio in the car came to life with Jihoon’s chuckle.

“Fucking softy falling for every sap with a sad story.”

“Do you always monitor my vehicle?” Seungcheol snapped irritably.

“Religiously,” Jihoon shot back without a hint of remorse. “The kid’s not far, Shua. One corner away stealing bread from the bakery. Ooh … Pumpernickel. Good choice.”

“Definitely taking him to Kihyun,” Seungcheol grumbled under his breath as Joshua got out of the car. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's try to spread a bit of love and positivity today ❤  
> the state of the world both in and out of the fandom has been tiring.  
> CARATS Fighting!  
> Monbebes Fighting!  
> all other fandoms and multistans Fighting!  
> 💜💙💚💛🧡


	16. Stealthy And Discreet

So Hansol could fight. And shoot. Which meant that those were two things Junhui didn’t need to teach him. Manners, on the other hand, that was a different story.

The kid was troubled to say the least, and Seungcheol understood that. His mother had flipped out and tried to stab him to death when he was eight years old, his father hadn’t wanted him and none of the foster families he’d been placed with had cared about anything other than the support fund.

Add all of that on top of the fact that he’d only just turned fifteen, their youngest so far. He had the attitude of a typical pubescent teenager and the trigger finger of a pyromaniac. It was not a good combination.

Seungcheol finally snapped when he found the kid gleefully watching the flames he’d given life to licking at the pile of sticks assembled in the centre of the yard, a contraption that looked suspiciously and infuriatingly like a rocket launcher sitting at his side.

“Okay, listen to me,” he hissed after he’d seized the fire extinguisher and engulfed the blaze in a thick white fog that slowly floated away with the wind. “You are here for one reason and one reason only and that is because Shua wants you to be so I get it. You like burning stuff. You’re a fucking arsonist who doesn’t need nobody telling him what to do, but if you’re going to be living under my roof, you need to abide by my rules.”

Hansol couldn’t have looked more disinterested, picking at the skin beneath his fingernails and adding fuel to the fire in Seungcheol’s gut – pun unintended. It was like he wanted to be kicked out and, if it weren’t for Joshua, that was exactly what would happen.

They seemed to have connected over the fact that they were both American. Joshua was the only person who could really get Hansol to do something and, in return, Hansol was about as protective as an elephant defending her calf.

A couple of days ago, he’d walked in on Joshua and Minghao goofing around in the training room just in time to see the Chinese boy pinning the American to the floor, and he’d gone absolutely ballistic. If Junhui hadn’t been there to wrestle the gun out of his hands, Minghao would probably be dead.

Something like that couldn’t be allowed to happen again.

Seungcheol was protective of Joshua, too – of all his people but Joshua in particular – and the mere suggestion that Hansol believed he would ever allow something to happen to him was just insulting. Although, if ever he allowed Hansol on a mission, he would feel a little safer knowing that Joshua would always have somebody religiously watching his back.

“Are you even listening to me?” he snapped tersely, finally drawing Hansol’s attention away from the soot in his fingernails.

“Not really.”

“What exactly is your problem?” Seungcheol hissed, folding his arms over his chest and taking a threatening step forward until they were almost nose to nose. Hansol didn’t flinch. “Do you actually want to be here? Because it doesn’t fucking seem like it so if I’m keeping you against your will, the door’s over there!”

Hansol’s brow furrowed and he huffed a long breath out through his nose before finally breaking the eye contact that could have burned holes in his skull.

“I don’t have a problem,” he stated matter-of-factly and Seungcheol scoffed.

“Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

He turned around and started back towards the door, unable to cope with yet another dead-end conversation when he had real problems to deal with – Takashima, Sungjong and his father, the missing drugs and the pressure his father was putting on him to bring the culprit to justice – but Hansol’s voice stopped him.

“Josh told me what you did for him.”

Seungcheol turned around, ironing his expression into one of blank monosyllabism. He didn’t know exactly where this was going but if Hansol was about to spew some cliché threats then he should at least have the decency to hurry up.

“You saved his life. That night at the auction … you know he was there because he ran away, right? Do you know where he tried to run?”

Seungcheol didn’t respond, knowing Hansol was going to tell him whether he replied or not.

“Off a bridge.”

Well, fuck. It made sense. An existence like that wasn’t worth living. Seungcheol just hadn’t realised Joshua was so close to the edge. He thought the boy was clinging to survival out of pure spite for the people who’d hurt him but, apparently, he’d been wrong.

“But you helped him,” Hansol continued. “You told him never to lose the fight he had in him. You spent all that cash on him just so you could feed him and let him sleep? Why would you do something like that?”

He looked suspicious. Sceptical. As though he believed Seungcheol had an ulterior motive for doing what he did that night but Seungcheol kept his expression slack as he deadpanned his reply.

“He’s a human being and they were selling him off like a piece of meat. I knew I couldn’t get him out but I could protect him from twelve straight hours of being tortured and raped for some sick bastard’s entertainment. And I didn’t save his life. That was all down to him. His strength, his decisions, his courage and his resilience. I don’t deserve a lick of credit for something that I played no part in.”

And he meant it, too. Maybe he’d given Joshua something to cling onto, some smidgen of hope, but that boy was the one who held on. That boy was the one who was working so damn hard to undo everything that had been done to him.

He looked back over at Hansol and was surprised to see the subtle smirk on his face.

“Wha … Was that a fucking test?”

“Yep,” the kid chirped, swinging his rocket launcher over his shoulder and striding straight past Seungcheol towards the door. “And you passed.”

He left the leader standing there, alone, in the cramped space of the yard with the wire fences cutting him off from the forestry that lay ahead, laughing despite the anger that had been bubbling up inside of him just a few seconds previously.

It would take a long time and many more lessons on manners but, someday, maybe, he could begin to like that kid.

\--------------------

“How’s he doing?” Seungcheol asked when he returned to the tech room where Jihoon was hunched over his computer with his headset on and a perspective camera footage playing on the screen.

“ _He’s_ doing fine,” came the snarky clapback from the speakers promptly before somebody’s middle finger popped into view. “I can hear you, you know? That’s kind of how this entire thing works.”

Seungcheol rolled his eyes, “Sorry, Jun.”

He lowered himself into the chair beside Jihoon, leaned over and whispered, “How’s he doing?”

“Yeah, can still hear you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be stealthy and discreet?” Seungcheol snapped but the irritability he’d intended on injecting into his tone was masked with amusement. 

He would never admit it to his face but Junhui was funny.

After he and Hyungwon had planted the tracker on Sungjong, Jihoon had been tracking his movements and found that there was one particular spot on the map that he kept returning to, almost every day. That was where Junhui was heading towards now.

It was just a recon mission. All he was supposed to do was scope out the area and figure out where their target was going since it was remote enough not to be covered on any surveillance cameras, but Seungcheol had still made him strap a camera to his chest beneath his shirt.

With any luck, they were about to find out where their missing shipments had been taken and, as a result, how they were going to put a stop to whatever organisation was responsible.

“Alright, I’m here,” Junhui murmured, the live footage on the screen showing how he was crouched in the darkened undergrowth at the back of some large ramshackle construction made of rotting wood and boarded up windows.

It looked like it may have once been a cute little cottage in the suburbs on the city outskirts but had long since been abandoned and written off as nothing more than ownerless property, bathed in moonlight and appearing more than a little creepy as fucking hell.

“Getting some real ‘ _Cabin in the Woods_ ’ vibes here,” came Junhui’s whisper, accompanied by the rustle of dried leaves. “If a clown comes at me, I’m out.”

“Really?” Seungcheol smirked as Jihoon took a couple of screenshots and loaded it up onto IM’s tech chatroom. “You’re afraid of clowns? You? The guy who literally feeds off other people’s fear is scared of a bunch of stupid goofs who wear makeup and big floppy shoes?”

Jihoon stopped typing and turned his head slowly towards him, eyes alarmingly wide and voice alarmingly quiet as he said with absolute seriousness, “You never watched ‘ _It_ ’, did you?”

“Hey,” Junhui called out softly. “You said there were rumours about these douchebags trying to enhance the effects of pre-existing drugs to make entirely new products, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well, this would be the perfect place to do it, don’t you think? There are definitely people inside and I can practically smell the marijuana from here. If this is where they’re bringing the drugs to do whatever crackpot experiments they’re doing, it really wouldn’t surprise me.”

Seungcheol scrubbed his hands over his face. He’d really hoped they were just rumours but both Soonyoung and Seungkwan had reported seeing numerous people acting like they were on some kind of super-hopped-up cocaine.

Sungjong and his father were probably selling the newly-engineered narcotics for twice their original price without even bothering to check how dangerous the side effects could be.

“Alright, Jun,” Seungcheol sighed. “Pull back and take the long way home in case you get followed.”

There was no reply, just an increase in the frequency of Jun’s breathing as the camera started to tremble and shift, as though the boy was reaching for something in his boot.

“Jun?”

He got his answer this time. But it wasn’t from Jun.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you, kid.”

Seungcheol felt his insides turn to ice as every hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. 

He and Jihoon were completely helpless here, unable to do anything but watch as Junhui whipped around to reveal half a dozen masked figures standing behind him, one with a gun pointed right at his head.

He never should have let him go out there alone. It was the number one rule: never go solo. But it had just been a recon mission and it was … it was _Junhui._ Why hadn’t he heard them sneaking up on him? Why had Seungcheol made such a rookie error? Why! Why! Why!

“Jun, get out of there right now.”

He already had his phone out, fingers flying over the keyboard as he sent an urgent message out to Joshua, Minghao and Seungkwan. They were closer than he was. They would get there before him.

“Jun, move!”

There was a sliver of silver across the computer screen and then everything was a blur. It was almost completely pitch black but with the occasional slip of moonlight or the flash of a fist or … or the splatter of blood.

“Jun!”

They could hear the thuds of punches hitting their targets and the swishes of a blade slashing skin and the grunts of somebody in pain and, at some point, Seungcheol had pushed out of his chair and Joshua had responded with a promise that they were on their way but there was literally nothing he could do.

He never should have let him go out there alone.

He should be moving right now, grabbing his weapons and leaping into his car and driving straight there so he could come to Junhui’s aid but he was too wary of leaving the room in case the absolute worst happened and he wasn’t there to see it.

The image came to a standstill at last, a large smear of scarlet clouding the lens. Junhui was panting and, for a moment, Seungcheol thought he’d won but then one of the masked men strode into view. 

From the angle of the camera, they could tell that Junhui was on his knees and if Junhui was on his knees, he most definitely hadn’t won.

“Take him inside,” the guy grunted, massaging his ribs with his eyebrows knitted together in an expression of pain. “And get him to tell … Hang on.”

He crouched down, beady eyes staring straight into the camera.

“Shit …” Seungcheol hissed. “Shut down his comms.”

It was too late. A pair of hammy hands reached out towards them and there was the unmistakable sound of a shirt being ripped open before Junhui growled a dangerously threatening, “don’t you fucking touch me” and the feed went dead.

“I’m going,” Seungcheol said at once, snatching his gun off the table with his jaw set in determination. “Get onto Seungkwan and the others and tell them to wait for me. I’m taking Wonwoo.”

This never should have happened. It was supposed to be a simple recon run that shouldn’t have lasted any longer than an hour. Now they’d lost Junhui and the people who had him knew he was working for somebody.

Seungcheol had absolutely no doubt that Junhui could hold out under torture – or, at least, hold out long enough for them to get there – but he genuinely had no idea if he would. He was impossible to read. If he wanted to, he might very well give everything up as soon as they asked him.

Either way, Seungcheol had to get him back before Sungjong’s guys figured out who was watching them. God knew what would happen then.

\--------------------

“What the hell happened?” Joshua asked once, less than ten minutes later, Seungcheol pulled up on the dirt road a few miles from the shack and got out with Wonwoo. “He got caught?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol grunted grimly, drawing his gun from his belt and gesturing for everybody to follow him as he plunged into the thicket of trees. “They got the jump on him and found the camera.”

He knew they were going in blind with absolutely no preparation or any idea just how many people they were about to burst in on but he also knew how dangerous it could be if Junhui decided to talk. They didn’t have time to think about it.

He would have called in more backup but Hansol was still a liability, Soonyoung was busy dealing with something on his end and the chop shop were out on their own mission. They were alone in this but Seungcheol wasn’t actually too worried about their safety.

Junhui’s tracker had been turned off. That meant those people had found it. That meant those people knew his location had been broadcasted and that meant those people knew somebody was coming for them.

The chances of them actually still being there when they arrived was slim to none. The real question was whether or not they would take their hostage with them or if they would just kill him and run.

“Coups,” came Wonwoo’s harsh whisper from somewhere to the left. “I’ve got bodies.”

Seungcheol crept over, keeping his gun clutched in both hands in case he needed to pull the trigger, and followed the direction of Wonwoo’s gesture to see three large men sprawled on the ground. They were still wearing their masks but they were drenched in blood, some of the stuff still oozing from the jagged knife wounds in their chests and throats.

Junhui had put up one hell of a fight. 

The growl of an engine sounded from somewhere ahead of them and Seungcheol broke out of the trees to see a large black van screeching away from the wreck of a house. Both he and Seungkwan raised their guns and fired at exactly the same time, each of their shots striking a different wheel.

The tyres deflated at once, axels screaming in protest as the vehicle swerved dangerously at the loss of control before shuddering to a clumsy stop at the side of the driveway. Doors instantly flew open as the occupants made a run for it.

“Go!” Seungcheol yelled. “Shua, with me! And aim for the legs! I want them alive!”

Leaving the runaways for the others to deal with, he and Joshua took off towards the building, gunfire echoing in their wake. Seungcheol threw a brief glance over his shoulder and felt a glow of pride at the sight of Minghao slicing straight through some poor bastard’s knees.

Joshua shouldered the door open, weakened wood splintering beneath his weight, and practically spilled into the hallway with his gun at the ready and Seungcheol right behind him.

It was quiet. Very, very quiet.

“Seungkwan,” he called softly, waiting for the reply in his earpiece.

“Yeah. We got all of them. Well … One of them didn’t make it but that was justified.”

“Keep them there,” Seungcheol ordered as he and Joshua tiptoed forwards. “Is Jun in the van?”

“No.”

So he was here. And he wasn’t responding. That wasn’t a good sign.

Sending Joshua a warning look, he raised his voice, tightened his grip on his gun and shouted Jun’s name into the silence. He had to wait three excruciatingly long seconds before a muffled grunt filtered through the wall on his left.

Apprehensive about what he was going to find on the other side, Seungcheol took one hand off his gun, checked that Joshua was just as alert as he was, and pushed open what was left of the door.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been expecting but the discovery that lay in front of him was reasonably anticlimactic and a little underwhelming.

The room was completely bare. No furniture, no wallpaper, no sign that there had been anybody there for at least a decade. Except for the two people sitting in the centre of the floor: Junhui and somebody else that Seungcheol didn’t recognise.

They had been positioned back-to-back, hands tied behind them and feet bound at the ankles as well as some very filthy-looking rags keeping large wads of cloths stuffed in their mouths.

Seungcheol glanced around, checking every corner for whichever threat could be laying in wait, but there was nothing and no one. It was wrong. Too easy. Junhui should be dead.

“Are you okay?” Joshua asked first, holstering his gun and reaching out towards his friend. “Did they …?”

“STOP!” Seungcheol roared, so loudly that Joshua actually yelped with fright, instantly leaping away from Junhui who was staring knowingly up at his leader with something terrifyingly similar to fear in his eyes.

He knew what was happening. He knew what they’d done. He knew the reason why he couldn’t be touched and he knew just as surely as Seungcheol did that he was probably about to die.

The other boy looked like he was unconscious, head lolling weakly against his shoulder and body slumping into Junhui’s like he didn’t possess the strength to hold himself up but Seungcheol could see that they’d put one on him, too.

Collars. Big, black, bulky and blinking with perfectly synchronised red lights, two large silver boxes on either side that probably contained the typical tangle of multicoloured wires.

Bombs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! If only we had a resident bomb expert …


	17. A Fucking Genius

“Okay,” Seungcheol murmured, deliberately slowing down his breathing and nodding his head in an attempt to convince himself. “Okay. Okay. This is what we’re going to do: Joshua, I want you to go outside and get everybody – Sungjong’s guys included – at least two miles away from here.”

“What?” Joshua whispered numbly. “Why? What’s … Why do I need to do that?”

“Because there’s a bomb around Jun’s neck and I have no idea how I’m supposed to disarm it so I need you to get the others a safe distance away and then I need you to call Hansol and get Jihoon to patch me into the line.”

Momentarily, he was worried that Joshua was about to refuse but then he gave a shaky, “okay”, and stumbled towards the door, pausing just long enough to get out the words, “but don’t you dare fucking die, Cheol” before he left the building.

Hansol had better come through. They needed Hansol to come through or Junhui was going to die and any trace of evidence they’d had in this place was going to be destroyed.

“Okay,” Seungcheol repeated under his breath, slowly sinking to his knees and oh-so-carefully slipping his finger beneath the rag in Junhui’s mouth so he could pull it down and remove the cloth that was stuffed between his teeth. “Are you hurt?”

He was bleeding from some kind of wound hidden in his hair, his eye was already starting to swell and his shirt had been torn at the collar to reveal a little more of his chest than was dignified, giving Seungcheol a glimpse of something huge and seriously concerning.

“That’s old,” Junhui ground out, barely moving his jaw and staying as still as physically possible. “I’m fine. Apart from the fact that I’m about to be blown to pieces.”

“You’re not going to be blown to pieces,” Seungcheol told him, struggling to look away from the wound in his boy’s abdomen.

He couldn’t see all of it and that was probably what was most worrying since what he could see was already pretty massive. It looked fairly recent, too, probably no more than a couple of months old and Seungcheol suddenly remembered the look of pain on Junhui’s face the first time they’d met.

“You should get out of here,” the boy muttered in a voice surprisingly calm for somebody strapped to a bomb. “There’s no clock on this thing but that doesn’t mean it’s not on a timer. It could go at any moment.”

“That’s nice,” Seungcheol mumbled back as he tried to examine the collar without actually touching it. “Who’s the kid?”

“I don’t know. He was already here when they brought me in. Coups, you really should go. There’s no reason that you have to die, too.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Seungcheol wasn’t really listening, concentrating instead on all the bombs he’d come across in his short lifespan. He’d never disabled one, had never even seen somebody disable one, but there was a first time for everything and he had to start somewhere.

“Did you tell them anything?” he asked absently. “About me? About the bunker?”

“What, don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not.”

Junhui released a very stifled, very breathy chuckle and only then did Seungcheol pick up on how strained his voice was. He didn’t think that the infamous Wen Junhui had the capability of being afraid but being turned into a suicide bomber would do that to you.

“They didn’t even ask me anything. They just put me here and bolted. Pretty sure they expected you to come galloping in on your high horse and get yourself blown up. I know that’s what I expected.”

“I am literally trying to save your life here,” Seungcheol scolded. “Couldn’t you be just a little less … you?”

“Sorry, pal,” Junhui shot back. “But Hannah Montana always taught me never to change for anybody.”

"You know what else Hannah Montana said? 'We're all in this together'. I'm not going anywhere."

"Dude, I think that was High School Musical." 

Seungcheol understood that he was using jokes to cope with the fact that his mortality was under serious threat and he was all too happy to go along with that if that was what it took to make him feel a little less afraid but before he could return the fire, his in-ear crackled to life.

“Coups?” Hansol called, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “I heard you’ve got a little problem.”

“Yeah … Something like that.”

“Can you send me a photograph?”

“Hang on.” He slipped his phone out of his pocket and accessed the camera, holding it up to capture the collar in all its deadly glory. “Say ‘cheese’.”

“Fuck you,” Junhui growled back, but there was no real anger in his tone.

Seungcheol sent the picture and sent his friend what he hoped was a sympathetic and reassuring smile even though he was panicking on the inside. This could very well be how he died.

“Oh, fuck …” Hansol cursed.

Well, that was helpful.

“Alright, Coups, this isn’t good. There are two of them, right?”

“Right.”

“They’re connected to each other. If you try to disarm one, the other will go off and vice versa. You have to do them together at exactly the same time.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes and resisted the urge to tear his hair out, “How am I supposed to do that on my own?”

“You’re not,” came the cryptic reply. “Woozi gave me the location and I’m on my way. I’ll be there in five minutes so just, whatever you do, don’t move them until I get there. These things are built with biometric armour and mercury motion sensors. They move, they die.”

“Hansol, you can’t come out here …” Seungcheol started but he should have known that Hansol wouldn’t be having any of it.

“And I’m willing to bet that you can’t even disable one bomb, let alone two at the same time. You need me, Coups, and I just dropped everything to come help you so a little appreciation would be nice.”

He was right. There was no way Seungcheol was experienced enough to attempt something like this by himself and this wasn’t a training room or a simulation. He couldn’t just press the reset button if it all went wrong. He screwed up and they would all be turned to mush.

“Coups …” Junhui croaked hoarsely. “You’re kinda keeping me out of the loop here.”

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol mumbled, momentarily ducking out of Junhui’s field of vision so he could compose himself before he returned. “Hansol’s on his way. We just have to sit tight until then.”

“Well … I’m not exactly going anywhere, am I?”

“No,” Seungcheol replied firmly. “No, you’re not going anywhere. I promise.”

The look Junhui was giving him seemed like gratitude but all that needed to be done was delve a little deeper and it was far more compatible with acceptance.

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep,” he whispered, closing his eyes and swallowing thickly. 

He truly thought he was going to die. He was even making peace with it, readying himself for what he perceived to be the inevitable and that was what made Seungcheol pull his thoughts together, steel his nerves and say with absolute certainty: 

“I don’t.”

For a split second, they stared right at each other and in that moment Seungcheol could see behind the clouded curtain of strength and into the eyes of somebody who’d never had a childhood, who had known nothing but pain his entire life and who was very, very scared.

“Coups?”

“In here!” Seungcheol called over his shoulder at the sound of Hansol’s voice outside the door. “We’re in here!”

He heard footsteps on the wooden floorboards and just before their resident bomb diffuser could step into the room, he took the tattered remnants of Junhui’s shirt and folded them over his exposed chest, hiding the ugly scar from view.

“Alright,” Hansol muttered as he crossed the space between them in two strides and sank to his knees, unbuckling some kind of tactical belt from around his waist. “Let’s take a look at this.”

While he was inspecting the device around Junhui’s throat, Seungcheol shuffled over to the unconscious boy who was still yet to move a muscle since they’d burst in here but who needed to be awake if they were going to do this. They needed to be sure he wouldn’t suddenly start trying to move.

“Hey,” Seungcheol called out softly, putting a hand on the boy’s foot and squeezing tentatively. “Hey, can you hear me?”

He stooped a little lower, trying to see into the kid’s face, and caught sight of a pair of droopy eyelids fluttering weakly just before a muffled groan bubbled up through a dried throat. He was starting to wake up and by the looks of it, it wasn’t a pleasant experience for him.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Seungcheol eased, cautiously laying a hand on top of the kid’s head in an attempt to keep him still. “Don’t move, okay? It’s really, really important that you don’t move right now. I’m gonna take this off so just … don’t move.”

He glanced over at Hansol but the boy was too engrossed in what he was doing, lips stretched thin in a grim line of concern that did nothing for Seungcheol’s confidence as he reached out and tugged the rag from the child’s mouth.

Because he was a child. Like, a proper child. Couldn’t have been more than a year or two into his teens. God knew what he was doing in a place like this.

“You with me?”

“Wha’s … happening?” came the groggy response between dragging breaths. “Why … Why can’t I move?”

“Don’t move,” Seungcheol reiterated urgently. “You have to stay still. As still as you possibly can.”

He couldn’t imagine how terrifying it would be to wake up realising your hands and feet were trapped and a complete stranger was telling you not to try and free yourself but he didn’t exactly have time to ease this kid into their situation.

Fear was beginning to dawn on his face as his eyes snapped from side to side before dropping towards his nose, as if he could somehow see the collar that was clenched around his neck.

“Oh my god …”

“I know,” Seungcheol breathed sympathetically. “But we’re gonna get you out of this so I need you to stay still. Can you do that for me? Don’t move your head. Just say ‘yes’ or no’. Can you do that for me?”

“Y … Yes.”

He was a brave kid. His face was bruised, his body was practically emaciated and Seungcheol was pretty sure his pupils were dilated, too. Even if he wasn’t in the middle of a high, he was coming down from one.

“That’s good,” Seungcheol told him. “What’s your name?”

“Chan.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Chan. I’m Coups and I’m gonna try and get this thing off you, alright?”

Chan was trembling, sweat already beginning to bead beneath his hairline and trickle down his brow and no matter how hard he seemed to be trying, his eyes were slowly filling with tears even as he mumbled a shaky, “Alright.”

“Okay,” Hansol announced, sitting back on his heels and raking his fingers through his hair. “I’m not going to lie to you, guys. The odds here aren’t great. But if it makes you feel any better, you won’t be the only ones who die if this goes sideways.”

Seungcheol winced at the blunt brutality but he at least appreciated the boy’s honesty. It wouldn’t do anyone any good to sugar-coat their situation. False hope was a dangerous thing.

“That’s reassuring,” Junhui grunted sarcastically. “Coups, this is your last chance to run and I strongly suggest you take it.”

Seungcheol looked at him, then he looked at Hansol and then he looked at Chan. The younger two were watching him – Junhui couldn’t due to the angle he was facing – waiting for his response as though he really did have a choice.

Hansol had said that two people were needed to diffuse these bombs and he was the only one in the room. Plus, he’d just promised Junhui that he wasn’t going to die and Chan was staring at him with such intense trust and desperation. There was no way he was walking out of here without them.

“And let you have all the fun?” he clapped back, sending Chan a wink. “I don’t think so.”

Junhui sucked in a sharp breath of frustration between his teeth but otherwise remained silent as Hansol opened one of the pouches on his belt and procured two pairs of pliers, handing one of them over to Seungcheol.

“You’re gonna need to do exactly as I tell you.”

Under any other circumstances, a sentence like that would have had Seungcheol’s blood boiling but here and now, he was more than happy to nod his consent. He was blind here. Hansol was the expert.

“We need to do absolutely everything at the same time,” the boy continued grimly as he indicated the large silver box on the side of Junhui’s collar. “You see the clasp here?”

Seungcheol squinted at Chan’s explosive accessory and hummed in affirmation when he spotted the two tiny buttons on either side of the bulking panel.

“The wires are gonna be in there and I’m fairly certain that as soon as we open them, we’ll have about thirty seconds or so before the bomb goes off. In that time, we have to find the right wire and cut it at exactly the same time.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol nodded, flashing Chan a reassuring smile. “I can do that. Which wire is the right one?”

If all he had to do was locate it, count to three and then clip it, it couldn’t be that hard. He’d done far more strenuous and intricate tasks before. Although, admittedly, his and his teammate’s lives weren’t dependant on those.

But then Hansol grimaced and Seungcheol felt his heart drop.

“I won’t know that until I get inside.”

So he had roughly thirty seconds to figure out which wire to cut before they were all blown into a trillion tiny pieces. That was … good to know.

“You’ve done this before, right?” Junhui questioned, his voice getting hoarser and hoarser by the minute. “Right?”

Hansol’s gaze flickered over to Seungcheol and, in that sliver of a second, the leader knew. Hansol had never done this before. He was probably familiar with the theory of it, had probably built more than a few bombs himself but had most definitely never had to disarm one with this much at stake.

That was why Seungcheol made the decision to mouth the word ‘lie’.

“Of course, I have. Now, Coups, open the clasp on three, tell me how many wires you have and what colours they are and then shut the fuck up because I’m gonna need to concentrate.”

They could very well be about to die. This could very well be it. Seungcheol briefly wondered if he should call his mother and tell her he loved her one more time or at least contact Joshua and hand the organisation over to him since he was the one whom he trusted enough.

But there wasn’t time.

“Okay. On three. One … two … three!”

Seungcheol squeezed the latches on either side of the box, trying not to think about how tightly Chan’s face was screwed up and how desperately hard he was trying not to cry, and the panel popped open at once.

They hadn’t blown up yet.

So that was a start.

He flipped the lid all the way backwards to reveal the mess of electrics, the tangle of wires and the tiny clock on the underside of the opening that immediately started counting down. Except it wasn’t from thirty.

It was from ten.

“There are three wires,” Seungcheol spewed, somehow managing to keep his voice level despite the panic that was flaring inside of him. “One’s green and yellow, one’s blue and the other’s brown.”

His palm was so sweaty that the pliers almost slipped from his grip and now there were only six seconds left and Hansol’s brow was furrowed in concentration, lips forming silent syllables, and Chan was crying and Junhui had closed his eyes and now there were only four seconds left and they were all about to die and …

“Cut the blue one on three.”

Seungcheol didn’t give himself time to second guess the decision. He didn’t have time to wonder if Hansol had been able to get it right that fast as he wedged the metal teeth of the pliers between the blue wire and held his breath.

Two seconds left.

“One, two, three!”

He squeezed.

And nothing happened.

“Oh … my God …” Hansol gasped, leaping away from Junhui and scrambling backwards until he hit the wall, shoulders heaving and head in his hands. “Oh my God … Oh my God …”

Seungcheol understood the feeling. He himself was about ready to pass out from the relief and he probably would have lain down on the floor and closed his eyes if he didn’t have things to do.

“It’s over?” Junhui wheezed, eyes still closed. “Is it over? Did you do it?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol murmured, staring at Hansol’s shrivelled figure by the wall as if he’d never seen anything more incredible. “He did it.”

“Then get it off me!” Junhui cried and, for the first time, his voice betrayed the panic he was feeling. “Get it off me right now! Get it off, Seungcheol!”

He was struggling, hyperventilating, completely freaking out, and it was doing nothing for Chan’s mental stability. The kid was sobbing uncontrollably and looked like he might have keeled over if his hands weren’t tied to Junhui’s.

“Okay,” Seungcheol soothed, still a little breathless as he shuffled over to his friend and started fumbling with the collar. “Okay, Jun, I got it.”

“Get it off!” Junhui screamed, panic turning to hysteria as he bucked and twisted in Seungcheol’s grip. “Get it off me!”

The clasp clicked obediently and the collar went loose in Seungcheol’s hands, falling away from Junhui’s neck to reveal bright red marks that would steadily turn purple along with time. 

Without dwelling too much on it, the leader tossed the deactivated bomb aside, pulled out his switchblade and cut the ropes on the captives’ wrists.

Instantly, Junhui pitched forwards, untied his feet and scrambled up from the floor like the wooden boards had burned him, still gasping for breath with his hands braced on his knees.

Seungcheol would have gone to him and checked he was alright if Chan hadn’t chosen that moment to topple over onto his side. He was breathing okay but his filthy shirt was drenched with sweat and blood even though he had no visible injuries.

He didn’t look like he’d had a shower or changed his clothes for weeks. And he certainly didn’t smell like it either.

“Jun?” Seungcheol called as he sliced through the bonds on the kid’s ankles and hefted him into a sort-of sitting position so he could cradle him against his chest. “Jun, are you with me?”

It took a couple of minutes but Junhui finally came back from wherever his mind had run off to and he straightened up, breathing heavily through his nose as he nodded his head.

“Hansol?”

“Yeah,” came the groggy response from the tangle of limbs by the wall, still clutching its face in its hands. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Seungcheol could have cried but, instead, he choked out what he hoped was a relatively believable laugh, “Everything I said the other day? I take it back. You’re a fucking genius.”

Hansol didn’t raise his head but he did send him a very weak and half-hearted thumbs up.

“Great,” Junhui growled, rolling his shoulders and cracking all the joints that had frozen up while he’d sat there. “Now can we please go murder the fucker who did this?” 


	18. That's The Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, this chapter contains some really gory bits. Please be wary.

Joshua couldn’t remember his family. It was one of the things they made sure he forgot as soon as he started training. If he asked about them, he was punished. If he talked back, he was punished. If he even mentioned them, he was punished.

Basically, if he did anything besides sit on his knees with his hands on his thighs and his eyes on the ground, he was punished. And brutally so.

He still remembered the box they used to cram him into, legs and neck crushed in the tiny space, walls lined with foam so that he couldn’t scratch his way out. He remembered the hose they used to wrap around his neck before assaulting his bare back with a freezing jet that felt more like gunfire than water.

He remembered the muzzle, the beatings, the shock collar, the degradation, the name-calling but the one thing he couldn’t remember was his mother’s face.

He had no idea what she looked like, what she sounded like, whether she was still alive or if she’d had any other children to fill the hole that he’d left in her life when those people snatched him away. He had no idea if he’d had a father or a sibling or a pet.

Desperate for something to cling onto, he repeated his own name under his breath until he fell asleep at night. When they asked him what he was supposed to answer to, when they tried to drill the word ‘Jisoo’ into his brain, he fought them. He fought so hard it got him locked in the box for three days straight.

And eventually he’d given in to satisfy them and to save himself further torture, but his name had stayed with him. Joshua. Joshua. Joshua. His name. The one his mother had given him. It was his only remaining link to the life he’d once led.

Somebody had taken his childhood away and then they’d gone one step further. They’d beaten the memories of it out of him. He’d always dreamed of finding that person one day and watching them burn but he never thought it would actually happen.

He never thought this moment would ever come.

The people they’d wrestled from the van and hobbled so they couldn’t run were kneeling in a bloodied line in front of them, their hands untied since they had no chance of being able to escape anyway, and their eyes all burning with fury. Minghao and Wonwoo were standing behind them, gun and sword at the ready just in case.

“They should have come back by now …” Seungkwan hissed under his breath as he paced up and down the line, wringing his hands at his sides. “Somebody should go help them.”

Joshua didn’t respond. He wasn’t really listening anyway.

The fact that he might never see Seungcheol, Hansol or Junhui again was searing the back of his mind and it was taking all his willpower not to sprint back into that house but there was something else, as well. Something he couldn’t quite identify tickling his insides.

Most of their prisoners were fairly normal-looking, textbook thugs with tattoos and bald heads and bulging muscles. They were pretty cliché, to be honest. All except for one of them: the one in the middle.

He was a lot older than the rest of them, probably only just shy of fifty, and was far better dressed. If Joshua had to make an assumption, he would say for certainty that this guy was a great deal more important than those beside him, and there was something hauntingly familiar about the black bristles on his chin and the tattoo on the side of his neck.

Joshua had seen that tattoo before but he couldn’t figure out where.

“We should head back,” Wonwoo suggested, giving the guy in front of him a kick when he tried to wriggle a little too much. “If we stay out here, we’re just exposing ourselves to attack and we need to get these muppets to talk somehow.”

The bearded man glanced up, locked eyes with Joshua and his entire world came crashing down.

“Well, fuck me …” the guy murmured, fat frankfurter lips curving in a disbelieving smirk of amusement. “Look who got even prettier.”

“Shut up!” Minghao snapped irritably. “Or I start chop your fingers.”

Joshua couldn’t breathe. He actually couldn’t breathe. There was something squeezing his lungs into flattened pancakes of damaged tissue cells and he tried to stumble backwards but his legs gave out beneath him and he crashed onto the grass with a pathetic whimper of terror.

“Shua?” Seungkwan asked worriedly, reaching out a hand that Joshua instantly shrank away from. “Joshua, what’s wrong?”

“So you went back to Joshua …” the bearded guy taunted, pain in his broken legs seemingly forgotten as he took pleasure in once again torturing this boy. “I thought they’d taught you better than that, Jisoo.”

It was him. Lee Hyunsik. Sungjong’s father. Big bad drug lord. The same person who’d grabbed Joshua from his home in Los Angeles, illegally smuggled him to Korea and then sold him into the slave trade. 

This was the guy.

This was the reason Joshua couldn’t remember his mother.

“That’s not my name!” he screamed, so loudly he thought his throat might tear, as he scrambled up off the ground and started forwards. “That’s not my name! That’s never been my name! My name is Joshua! I’m Joshua!”

He wasn’t sure exactly what he would have done if Seungkwan hadn’t grabbed him from behind and held him back but all he knew was that he was hysterical and sobbing and screaming and fighting and it was all because of the man in front of him.

Hyunsik was laughing. Even after Minghao hit him over the head with the hilt of his sword, he was still laughing and that laugh was branded into Joshua’s memory and that smile was burned into the backs of his eyelids and he couldn’t breathe.

“Josh! Josh, look at me!”

When had he fallen over? Why were so many people touching him? Why was nobody wiping that smile off Hyunsik’s face? Why wasn’t anybody helping him? Why were they yelling at him? Was he going back in the box? He didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He _couldn’t_ go back in the box.

“Josh, you aren’t! Josh, I promise you, you aren’t going back there! Josh, look at me. Please, Josh, look at me.”

Only one person called him ‘Josh’. Only one person spoke English to him. Only one person would be able to interpret the smudge of unintelligible words mushed into his screams.

“Vernon,” he begged, reaching out and looping his arms around the boy’s neck. “Vernon, he’s gonna take me back there … Please, Vernon, don’t let him take me back there … I don’t want to go back there …”

Hansol was alive. Hansol was back. Hansol was holding him and Hansol was stroking his hair and Hansol was keeping him safe and when Joshua opened his eyes, he saw Seungcheol, too. Seungcheol and Junhui.

They were all alive. And they were here. Which meant that Hyunsik wouldn’t be able to get him. Hyunsik wouldn’t be able to touch him again. Hyunsik wouldn’t be able to shove him into the arms of another monster like Donsong.

“You won’t,” Hansol promised him, tightening his grip on the older boy’s body and glancing up at Seungcheol’s worried face over his shoulder. “I promise you, Shua. You’re not going back there. I won’t let anybody take you back there.”

Joshua closed his eyes, choosing instead to melt into Hansol’s chest and breathe in the smell of the boy’s cologne and remind himself that Hansol would never _ever_ let anything bad happen to him.

“What is this?” Seungcheol hissed at Seungkwan as he gently lowered Chan’s unconscious body onto the ground and covered him with his jacket. “What the fuck happened?”

“Is this the guy?” Junhui spat venomously, completely ignoring his leader as he stormed over to where Hyunsik was still cackling maniacally on the ground. “Are you the leader? You find this amusing, do you?”

“Jun …” Seungcheol called warningly but Junhui had clearly reached his limit.

“This guy strapped me to a fucking bomb!” he screamed, snatching the gun from Wonwoo’s hand and pointing it directly at his enemy’s head. “He tried to blow me up!”

Conveniently, that was the moment the bastard decided to stop laughing.

“I know!” Seungcheol shouted back, shooting a nervous glance over at where Hansol was still cradling Joshua’s shivering frame in his arms with a murderous expression on his face. “I was there, too! Remember? But you can’t kill him!”

He didn’t think either of them would be forgetting anytime soon. The clock had stopped with only one second left and they’d all just sat there for several lengthy moments, breathing through the overwhelming relief.

Chan had passed out as they were untying him and there was no way any of them were prepared to leave him there. 

“Coups!” Hansol growled, one hand cupping the back of Joshua’s head as his eyes fixed themselves on Hyunsik.

Something was wrong. Seungcheol would have been able to tell even if Joshua hadn’t been screaming, “that’s not my name!” at the top of his lungs and lashing out at anybody who even tried to touch him until Hansol had somehow managed to get through. 

He recognised the man Junhui was holding at gunpoint from the photograph on IM’s computer: Lee Hyunsik. But, other than that, he was completely in the dark.

“What is it?”

“That’s him,” Hansol spat. Fury didn’t even begin to describe the look in his eyes. “That’s the guy who abducted Josh. That’s the guy who authorised his training. That’s the guy who sold him off to Park Donsong.”

Joshua twitched but otherwise showed no reaction, a stark contrast to the people around him, all of whom looked as though they’d just been slapped in the face. 

Joshua had become a friend, carer and role model to many of them since he’d finally agreed to move into the bunker. Clearly, Lee Hyunsik didn’t know who he was messing with.

“And I must say …” the bastard smirked. “He was one of my …”

“Jun!” Seungcheol snapped before he could finish, stepping up to Junhui’s side and looking that despicable excuse for a human being right in the eye as he said, “You have full reign. Do whatever the fuck you like to him so long as there’s something left for me to kill.”

Junhui’s grin sent a shiver up Seungcheol’s spine.

“My pleasure.” 

\-------------------

They killed Hyunsik’s underlings and abandoned them in a ditch at the side of the road, leaving Hyunwoo a message disclosing their location for when he had time to pick them up. The ring leader was the only one they needed.

Seungcheol knew that he’d given Junhui the green light to go ahead with whatever he wanted to do but he wasn’t prepared to see the boy take a switchblade and press it against the side of Hyunsik’s eyeball. Nor was he prepared for the sucking, squelching sound it made as it fell out of the socket and dangled against his cheek, held up by a single nerve.

And he certainly wasn’t prepared to watch it happen a second time with the other eye.

In no way was Seungcheol squeamish and he’d done his fair share of torture but, by now, his victim would have been unconscious and he would be preparing himself to start another round when he woke up. Something about the efficiency and swiftness in which Junhui was able to disfigure a live person without killing him was … sick.

They had a basement in the bunker that was conveniently lined with concrete and pretty far away from the living spaces so Seungcheol allowed Junhui to take his victim down there and work through his anger while he himself chose to monitor Chan’s condition.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked Seokmin from where he was standing at the foot of the bed in the med bay, watching the pharmacist shining a light in the unconscious boy’s eyes. “Is he on something?”

“It seems like he’s on everything,” Seokmin muttered grimly. “And he has been for some time.”

The kid looked barely in his teens and he was already harbouring a serious drug problem. It was definitely not the way somebody should be starting their life.

Chan had stark purple track marks on the insides of his elbows, accompanied by an impressive wash of black bruising from the abuse that had been unleashed on his veins but the ligature marks around his wrists were far too dark for somebody who hadn’t spent at least a month in restraints.

It had made Seungcheol wonder whether or not the drug usage had been consensual.

“He’s going to go through hell when he starts withdrawal …” Seokmin murmured sympathetically, wetting a cloth in a bowl of water and laying it gently over Chan’s forehead. “I definitely don’t want to be in his shoes right now.”

“You mean, he hasn’t started already?” Seungcheol blanched in disbelief.

Chan was already twitching and shaking, sweat soaking through the fresh clothes they’d changed him into and his breath smelling strongly of vomit from the last three times he’d regurgitated a wave of bile and stomach acid into the trashcan that now sat beside him.

Seungcheol had seen a couple of people suffering the after-effects of suddenly going cold turkey and this was exactly how they looked. There was no denying that the kid had a shockingly wide variety of narcotics in his system but this should be the worst that it got.

“No,” Seokmin said with a bitter chuckle. “This is only the very beginning. He’s got probably three to five days of unimaginable torture ahead of him. Pain, shakes, vomiting, urges … Poor kid. He’s too young for this.”

Seungcheol agreed there. He’d wanted to hold off on taking Chan to a hospital just in case the boy had a criminal record that would land him in a youth detention centre or some twisted guardian who really couldn’t give two craps about what happened to him so he’d brought him here and asked Jihoon to find out what he could about the kid named Lee Chan.

What had come back was physically sickening.

Chan was thirteen but only just. His mother had died giving birth to him and his father was about as disappointing and deadbeat as fathers got. In fact, his father was one of the people Seungcheol had just allowed Minghao to kill.

The bastard – the fucking _bastard_ – had used his own son to test Hyunsik’s experimental homemade concoctions. The boy could have died, could have suffered irreversible brain damage or suffocated on his own vomit but his father hadn’t given a fuck.

Seungcheol didn’t even want to think about a parent using their child as a lab rat so they could distribute illegally modified narcotics to the public just to make themselves a profit.

He wished he’d known who the bastard was before he’d told Minghao he could execute him. If he had, he would have let him have his own little session with Junhui.

“Have you got this?” Seungcheol asked Seokmin. “Do you need help or are you okay to stay with him for today?”

Seokmin looked tired, haggard and miserable, the condition of his latest patient probably bringing back unpleasant memories of when he used to help his clients shoot up at the pharmacy, but still he forced a small smile and nodded.

“I got him.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol acknowledged, giving the boy’s shoulder a strong squeeze as he headed for the door. “If you feel like you’re slipping or you’re out of your depth, call me and I’ll have someone take over.”

“Thanks, Seungcheol.”

His back was turned and so Seokmin didn’t see but, just at that tiny gesture of gratitude, a huge grin spread across Seungcheol’s face. That was the first time the kid had called him by his name without stuttering and it felt like the sun had just started to shine again.

\-------------------

Wonwoo and Seungkwan had gone back to work at the bar for the day. Soonyoung had called to check that nobody had died but otherwise couldn’t leave his post at the shelter. Seokmin was with Chan, Junhui was in the basement and Jihoon was, as always, in the tech room but it was the others that Seungcheol wanted to find.

Something had snapped inside Joshua and it wasn’t just the trauma of remembering Hyunsik’s face. It was like he’d completely shut off all human emotion, become a robot who neither needed to eat, sleep or speak in order to carry out its necessary functions.

Seungcheol understood that it was some kind of coping mechanism but that didn’t make it normal and it certainly didn’t make it comfortable to be around.

He tracked the boy to the training room and, as soon as he walked through the door, his eardrums were accosted with the grunts and thuds and thumps of two people beating the shit out of each other.

If Seungcheol hadn’t known they were only practising, he would have lunged forwards to pry Joshua and Minghao apart. The ferocity with which they were going at each other was, frankly, alarming and any moment now there could be a very serious injury but they weren’t stopping.

It took Seungcheol a little longer to realise that Minghao wasn’t actually doing any attacking like he usually did. He was just defending, protecting himself from the fists and feet that Joshua was hurling in his direction without actually broaching his own assault.

And the look in Joshua’s eyes was disturbing: a strange mixture of determination, pain and anger that Seungcheol was fairly certain wasn’t directed at Minghao.

“They’re going to kill each other,” he muttered as he sank down beside Hansol on one of the benches by the wall. “They actually might.”

Hansol glanced up from the handmade blueprints he was pouring over, occasionally adding a couple of notes with a chewed pencil. It looked like it might be the plans for some kind of weapon but that really wasn’t Seungcheol’s neck of the woods.

“Nah,” the boy dismissed before he went back to his reading. “They’re fine. Josh just needs to blow off some steam.”

Minghao landed a well-aimed kick to the side of his opponent’s head, sending him down with a rough _whack_ to the floor. He should have taken a moment to catch his breath but, instead, he let out a scream of frustration and scrambled right back up to raise his fists.

“Again,” he demanded curtly, ignoring Minghao’s look of concerned reluctance as he stepped into another swing.

Yeah … He was just fine.

“Listen,” Seungcheol started, wanting to initiate this conversation about as much as he wanted to pull out his own teeth but knowing it had to come at some point. “I … Fuck.”

Hansol looked over at him, eyebrow raised in surprise at the sudden profanity, “You okay?”

Seungcheol resisted the urge to clapback with a sarcastic, “you care?” 

If this relationship was going to progress anywhere then he was going to have to be the bigger person. The older person, too. He was three years the kid's senior.

He took a deep breath and started again.

“What you did last night … was … it was incredible, Hansol.”

He expected some kind of smug smirk or snarky arrogant quip in response but there was none. Hansol was just watching him, silently, waiting, and if it weren’t for Joshua and Minghao fighting in the background, it would have been eerily quiet.

“You didn’t know that it was going to work, did you?”

Hansol shook his head slowly, “No … I didn’t.”

“And yet you risked your life anyway? Why would you do that? I thought Shua was the only person you cared that much about.”

He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Twelve hours ago, the kid had been acting like a spoiled brat who wanted to burn Seungcheol in his sleep and then, just like a switch had been flipped, he was disarming a bomb that could very well have killed him in order to save a bunch of people he hardly knew.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Hansol smirked. “I’ll always choose Josh over any one of you but I’m still human. I was the only one in that situation who could have done something and I …”

He trailed off, letting out a long sigh of resignation that had him sounding like his next sentence was the very thing he least wanted to say.

But he still said it.

“I don’t trust you, Coups. Maybe one day I will but not yet. I don’t know you well enough. But Josh does and he swears by you. He’d follow you into hell if you asked him to and I’d follow him because he was the first person who ever looked at me like I wasn’t a waste of oxygen. He helped me understand that you’re not the person I thought you were.”

“How’s that?” Seungcheol asked, cocking his head to the side inquisitively as he watched a shy smile quirking the edges of Hansol’s lips.

“I wasn’t the only one who ran straight into that house without giving a fuck about his own personal safety. You risked your life to save Junhui and I risked my life to save the two of you. Isn’t that how a team’s supposed to work? Protect each other? Die for each other?”

Seungcheol didn’t know what he’d been expecting but it certainly wasn’t this. Hansol was finally opening up, shedding those defensive layers that had grown stale from years of use, and he was even referring to himself as part of the team.

Maybe the leader had been wrong about him.

“Well …” he chuckled. “Hopefully it won’t come down to that last one but … yeah … I suppose it is.”

“Then I want that,” Hansol whispered, almost too quiet to be heard over the sound of Minghao and Joshua’s battle. “I know I haven’t exactly been very cooperative and I’m sorry for that. I just … I didn’t know what kind of guy you were and I was afraid to let my guard down around you but … if you still … you know … I’d … erm …”

He was struggling, dropping his gaze to the ground and rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck and Seungcheol knew it was the wrong moment to feel such things but the kid was kind of cute.

And, if what had happened last night was anything to go by, he was intelligent and reliable as hell, too. In the unlikely – touch wood – event that any of them ever got strapped to a bomb again, Seungcheol knew that this was the boy he wanted to have on his side.

“Yes,” he grinned, taking pleasure in the way Hansol squirmed uncomfortably at the sudden burst of affection. “I still want you to stay. But if you do that, you’re going to have to follow my rules, okay?”

The boy smirked sheepishly, “Okay.”

Seungcheol braced his hands against his knees and pushed himself to his feet, wincing when he saw Joshua landing a solid punch to Minghao’s gut. It could have been stronger but it also could have been a lot weaker and the younger boy had to take a couple of minutes to regain his composure.

Joshua was hurting and he was pushing it down in favour of not having to deal with it himself. It was a coping strategy Seungcheol had practised many times in the past so he knew not to address the situation. Joshua needed space.

“One more thing,” he added, turning around to face Hansol’s raised eyebrows. “Who’s Vernon?”

“Oh,” the boy smirked. “Vernon’s my English name.”

“Good name,” Seungcheol praised jokingly. “I’ll see you later, Vernon.”

So long as there was someone making sure Joshua and Minghao weren’t going to beat each other to death, he felt safe and secure enough to leave them to it. Besides, it had been several hours since he’d left Hyunsik alone with Junhui and he figured that was long enough to satisfy his need to see the bastard squirm.

By the time he returned to the basement, Hyunsik was missing his tongue, both ears, the tip of his nose and the flaps of his lips, the skin of his forehead neatly folded over to cover the gaping holes of his exposed orbital canals.

And there was Junhui, standing in front of him with his arms folded in a smug sense of pride, surveying his work as though he were a painter having completed a masterpiece instead of a teenager who’d just peeled a man’s face off.

“Don't worry, I did this procedure a few times when I worked for a plastic surgeon in Dubai,” he called over his shoulder when he heard Seungcheol enter.

“No, you didn't, you're seventeen. When would you have worked in Dubai?” Seungcheol tsked with a roll of his eyes. “And Jesus, Jun … I said _don’t_ kill him.”

“Oh, he’s very much alive, Coups,” Junhui chuckled, twirling the knife between his fingers. “Believe me. He can feel everything.”

Seungcheol didn’t want to think about it too much. He’d wanted the monster to hurt the way he’d made Joshua hurt and feel the pain he’d inflicted on so many others but he was glad he’d given the task to Junhui. There was no way he’d have been able to do his anger justice on his own.

“Alright,” he sighed, tugging his gun out of his belt and checking the clip had at least one bullet in it. “Time to put an end to this.”

The stuttering wheezes clawing their way up through mangled lips had his stomach churning so intensely that he almost _wanted_ to end the bastard’s suffering. But then he reminded himself of all the despicable things he’d done and, suddenly, it was a lot easier to press the barrel of his gun against Hyunsik’s temple.

“This is for Shua …” he growled before he pulled the trigger. 

They left his body there, slumped in the chair he’d been bound to, slowly rotting away in the darkness like he deserved as they walked away to continue with their lives despite how hard that man had tried to take them.

“So what happens now?” Junhui asked, absently wiping the blood from his hands onto his shirt just as they reached the main hall. “We go after Takashima?”

“Not yet,” Seungcheol corrected, thinking back to the bags beneath Seokmin’s eyes and the shivers that shook Chan’s body and the anger in Joshua’s face. “I think we all need some recuperation time before we do anything else.”

Junhui nodded in agreement although he did look a little disappointed. He definitely preferred being productive over sitting around doing nothing while they waited for the less psychotic among them to pull themselves back together again.

It felt strangely empty now that Hyunsik was dead and his followers would be scattering like seeds for fear of losing their own eyeballs. The drug shipments would be safe from now on and that meant that Seungcheol’s duty was, technically, over.

“I’m going to call my father,” he huffed dejectedly, deciding that he couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer. “If you hear yelling then don’t disturb me. I’ll probably blow your head off.”

Junhui smirked but turned on his heel anyway and headed off down the corridor, throwing a taunting, “I’d like to see you try!” over his shoulder as he went.

Seungcheol dragged his feet up the stairs, dismayed at his own immaturity but about as excited to speak to his father as he was to dive off a cliff. Now that he was thinking about it, diving off a cliff actually sounded more appealing.

“Fine,” he chastised himself, flopping down on the edge of his bed and staring at the man’s number on his phone screen. “Let’s get this over with.” 


	19. Family of Monsters

Something wrong was in the air.

Something sinister and evil and just … just plain  _ wrong  _ floated through Seungcheol’s lungs, poisoning every breath he took and making every move he made a hundred times harder, sloppier and more sluggish.

It may have been strange to describe just going about his daily business but it had reached a point where the sheer wrongness inside of him had become almost tangible.

He flashed his headlights at the sentry on the gate of the Choi compound. His home. Or what he used to call his home. Now the thought of being here just made his skin crawl and itch with an overwhelming need to get the hell out, just turn his truck around and head back to Seoul as fast as his wheels would carry him.

There was nothing right about this. What could have been a quick phone call had turned into a three-hour drive back to Daegu because his uncle had insisted he speak to him in person regarding his progress. And it was wrong. All wrong. His uncle had never intervened before.

Plus, Seungcheol had a new kid to take care of, too. A kid who, even four days later, was still high out of his mind, detoxing and begging for death.

Then there was also the matter of Jihoon tracking some strategic movement on Takashima’s end that they couldn’t trace and, on top of all that, the look Junhui had given him when he announced his departure was something akin to confusion. Maybe even fear.

Junhui knew something. And he hadn't been wrong before.

Seungcheol had only seen that look on Junhui’s face one time. Only once. Something was happening and it settled like a weight in his gut but here he was, parking in his usual spot in the Choi compound’s underground parking.

Leeteuk emerged from the house to meet him just as he stepped out of his car.

Wonbin’s boyfriend was an elegant man, not somebody you would expect to find warming the bed of a notorious criminal. He was tall and slender, beautiful and youthful despite his age, and was, in Seungcheol’s opinion, far too educated for the likes of this family but he made his uncle happy.

Leeteuk looked a little harried, blonde hair mussed, face slightly swollen and clothing covering more skin than Seungcheol had ever seen him purposefully hide. As he reached out to shake the newcomer’s hand, his sleeve rode up a little and Seungcheol caught a glimpse of finger-shaped bruising imprinted around his wrist.

The weight in his stomach didn’t let up when Leeteuk’s voice shook as he practically choked out, “Welcome back, nephew.”

The three words were uttered with care, eyes pointedly glued to Seungcheol’s face. It just kept getting weirder. Wrong-er. But Seungcheol said nothing, patting Leeteuk on the shoulder and flashing him a small smile as they both walked inside and up to Wonbin’s study.

“Cheol!” He cheered from the entryway, reeling his nephew in for a tight hug.

“Hello, uncle. Where’s Appa?”

“He’ll join us shortly,” the man beamed with a hearty laugh. “Come, come, sit with me. It’s been too long. Teuk, baby, have someone fetch us drinks, will you?”

Leeteuk gave a tight, close-lipped smile, throwing one last look at Seungcheol before reluctantly yet obediently exiting the room. It was unsettling.

“Come. Sit. Let’s catch up.”

“I’d really rather not,” Seungcheol protested even as he sank into the chair opposite his uncle. “I have things to attend to back in Seoul.”

“Ah, yes,” Wonbin acknowledged with a snide smirk. “Your ragtag gang of merry men. Honestly, Cheol, we sent you out there to do a job, not build a harem of slaves and prostitutes.”

Anger flared in Seungcheol’s gut and he practically snarled the words, “No one who works for me is a slave or a prostitute.”

“I have evidence that proves the contrary,” his uncle laughed, as though the boy’s failure was a thing of great amusement to him. “Seonghwa, Jisoo, Dokyeom … I know what goes on over there, Cheol, and if you want to fuck all of them then by all means, go ahead, but it would do you some good to surround yourself with better help. And I don’t mean the garbage collectors and the homeless.” 

Seungcheol could feel the heat rising from his chest to his neck and took a few soothing breaths to calm himself down before he could explode. He didn’t need his uncle telling him what to do with his team. His team were the people he needed to be with right now, not this man. 

“Cheol,” came Soobin’s unimpressed drawl from the doorway. “You came back.”

He strode over to join them, one of the kitchen hands hot on his heels with a tray of drinks that she set down on the table before scurrying away again.

“I didn’t come back,” Seungcheol dismissed. “I’m here to report and be on my way.”

“Ah, yes,” his father sneered, sounding irritatingly similar to his brother. “Back to your kids and your hookers.” 

Seungcheol locked eyes with his father. Dark eyes that resembled his own too closely. 

He had his mother’s pale colouring, her thick dark hair and full pink lips, he didn't get as tall as he hoped to be but he had his father’s bulky frame and his eyes.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Wonbin diffused, maybe because he could see Seungcheol’s knuckles whitening or maybe just because. “The Mins and Kims asked that I contact them as soon as you arrive for a proper debriefing. Min Yeonjun would also like to talk to you about taking some of the older trainees back with you.”

He downed his glass in one and got to his feet with a poorly-suppressed grunt of effort.

“I have no need for them,” Seungcheol huffed back truthfully.

“Listen,” his father started, frustration evident in his tone, but his brother dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder before he could continue, pushing him towards the door.

“Come on. We can do this after the briefing.”

Soobin sighed out loud but silently swallowed his own drink and stormed from the room without further protest.

“Won’t Eomma and Leeteuk be seeing us out?” Seungcheol asked suspiciously.

Usually, he didn’t care for that particular tradition: the doting wives and, in Leeteuk’s case, boyfriend seeing their significant others off before a raid or a mission, but Seungcheol didn’t know when he’d next be coming back to the compound and he didn’t want to have travelled all this way and not see his mother.

“She isn’t here,” Soobin hissed irritably as they descended the stairs together. His father tucked his gun in its holster as they passed the entryway and Seungcheol suddenly realised how empty the halls felt around him.

His gut was screaming.  _ Wrong, wrong, wrong. _

“Is she with Aunt Mina? I’d like to see her before I leave.” he pressed despite the voice in his head pleading with him to be quiet and get this over with.

“You can do that when we get back,” his father snapped with finality, signalling to his son that there was no room left for further argument. 

His uncle flashed him a small smile before buttoning his suit jacket and steering them to the car.

The Min mansion looked even bigger without the decorative lights and fleet of vehicles compromising the outside space. There were a few guards and slaves dotted around but the meeting was a small one. Small and unnecessary in Seungcheol’s opinion.

He didn’t see why he’d needed to come all the way here to give this report since it would have been far easier to just CCD Min Yeonjun and Kim Seongho if the information was needed so promptly.

They were chivvied straight into the room that had started all of this: Yeonjun’s study where the man himself sat before a chessboard while his opponent puffed on a Cuban cigar.

“Pretty shitty competition, as you always have been, Kim,” he crowed arrogantly as he took Seongho’s queen.

“I don’t even know why you make me play this shit.”

“It’s soothing for me,” Yeonjun countered with his trademark lazy smile just before he reached over the board and knocked over the white king. His lazy half smile grew to a grin. “I believe that this is called Check Mate.”

Kim rolled his eyes and tipped over the chessboard scattering the little wooden pieces over the plush carpets

“Ah, Mr Coups, come right in,” Min gestured with a wave of his arm and Seungcheol dipped his head in solemn greeting as he lowered himself into the lone chair in front of the desk, facing his superiors with his expression completely void of emotion. 

He’d learned that was the easiest way to make it through these congregations.

“You have news for us?” 

“Yes, sir,” he relayed robotically. “Lee Hyunsik has been tracked down and eradicated. I wasn’t able to retrieve the product before he tampered with it and started human testing but the next scheduled shipment will arrive within the week. Safely, this time.”

Yeonjun’s smile grew a fraction.

_ Wrong, wrong, wrong. _

“And how is your team coming along? I’ve been told that you’re keeping … strange company.”

“Sluts and whores,” Kim offered, words slightly muffled around his cigar, and Seungcheol had to dig his nails into his palms in an attempt to stay calm.

Yeonjun hummed, dark eyes swivelling up and down his victim, “Would you consider taking a few underlings back with you? No one you haven’t worked with before, of course. Maybe a few of the older ones, more experienced … less attractive though, I’m afraid.”

“Honourable Min, Sir,” Seungcheol bit back, trying to keep his tone polite and his eyes down as he spoke. “With all due respect, my team is fine. I’m getting the job done, my allegiances are trustworthy and my guys are capable.”

They were more than that. His kids were tough. With just a little more training, they’d be damn near perfect, and he wasn’t ever going to give up on that. He knew he needed underlings, more people to expand his reach but, for now, he was perfectly happy with what he had.

“I understand, Mr Coups, but you do still operate under my order so this isn’t a request I’m afraid,” Yeonjun continued dismissively, scribbling something down on a piece of paper and pressing a button on his desk. “I’ll have a list sent to you within twelve hours. You can take your pick and do with them what you will.”

A slave girl with golden manacles bustled in, took the slip of paper and exited the room just as quickly as she’d come.

“Now …” Yeonjun declared with a clap of his hands. “How about you have a look around the grounds while I speak to the grown-ups, hmm?”

It wasn’t a choice so Seungcheol stood, inclined his head and took his leave careful not to step on the fallen chess pieces.

Strangely, he didn’t feel as angry as he should be. He had just been chewed out and spoken to like a child but there was no room in his chest for anger alongside the feeling of  _ wrongness  _ that had lodged itself there permanently. 

He took a few soothing breaths as he stepped out into the night air and felt the chill of the wind against his skin.

The moon was nowhere in sight, not even a single sliver of it. The sky was an inky black mass stretching above him for miles. Almost like a foreboding. He sat down on the front steps with a huff, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie over his fingers and hunching in on himself.

“I didn’t expect to see you back here so soon, Mr Coups.”

Seungcheol didn’t even have the presence of mind to be startled by the appearance of Min Suga.

He still heard rumours about the boy, about the angel of death as he had come to be known as, rumours that he hadn’t truly believed until he saw first-hand just how ruthless he was. Here in Daegu, he’d made a name so big that it had reached the ears of Soonyoung’s guys.

Seungcheol had refused to acknowledge the fact that they knew each other, that they had met before and had even shared a smile. Honestly, Seungcheol would have preferred it if their paths had never crossed again.

He knew that, if Suga took over officially, he’d have to answer to him directly but he didn’t seem the type to check up on his underlings so long as there wasn’t a problem with their work.

“I didn’t expect to see you at all,” Seungcheol shot back, keeping his eyes averted.

Even so, he could still hear the smirk in Suga’s voice as he settled himself a few stairs above Seungcheol, “Well, I still operate from here. It’s easier to keep an eye on my father from nearby.”

“You need to keep an eye on your father?”

“You don’t?” 

Seungcheol shrugged. He felt like he was in some kind of trance, like the sky had entrapped him in a peculiar dream with Suga’s gravelly voice buzzing in his ear and the weird sensation swirling around in his chest cavity.

He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t exactly know why. He just knew he shouldn’t be.

“Is Seoul all you dreamed it would be?”

“It’s okay, a lot more ground to cover."

The headlights of a car washed over the staircase then retreated down the path as they sat there in silence. Seungcheol rubbed his sternum, willing the tightness in his chest away. His legs felt staticky and his skin hummed with the need to just get up and get out, but he had to wait until the ‘adults’ were done.

Back here he was powerless. Back here he was weak. He needed to return to his team.

“I guess I should offer my condolences as well,” Suga said after a few moments.

“Who died?” Seungcheol mumbled absently, expecting the disinterested grunt of a name he barely recognised but would still be expected to mourn the loss of.

But when there was no reply, he glanced over his shoulder to see Suga studying him closely, dark head cocked to the side in a decidedly bird like manner, dark eyebrows drawn together in the centre of his forehead. He looked … confused.

_ Wrong, wrong, wrong. _

“Have you seen your mother?” he asked slowly.

Seungcheol’s heart somehow dropped into his feet and crawled up his throat at the same time and it must have read on his face because Suga shook his head sympathetically, getting to his feet and preparing to walk away only to have Seungcheol grab his wrist.

The request died on his lips but Suga didn’t need words to know what he needed.

Procuring his car keys from his pocket, he held them out with a soft command of, “Go.”

“I … tha-thank you, Honourable Min, Sir,” Seungcheol stammered out, barely remembering to dip his head as he stumbled down the steps.

His body was moving on autopilot as he dug his thumb into the key fob and listened for the click of Suga’s car doors unlocking. He barely registered the make or model, throwing himself into the driver’s seat and speeding off in the direction of the Choi Compound.

Everything was moving too fast and yet the journey was taking too long, the road stretching out ahead of him as if it was never going to come to an end and his chest was tight and his eyes were burning and his phone was buzzing in his pocket but he couldn’t bring himself to reach for it.

His father and uncle had probably realised by now that he’d abandoned them but he truly couldn’t care less at this point so he left it to ring out.

The car hadn’t even stopped moving before he threw the door open and sprinted through the entryway, tearing up the stairs beneath his feet and not stopping until he skidded into his mother’s room.

Bare.

Empty.

“No … No … Eomma …”

He threw open the closet but there was nothing inside. He wrenched out all of the drawers but her jewellery, her photographs, everything … it was all gone.

“Eomma!” he screamed, his hands balled in his hair and his throat closing up. “Eomma! Eomma!”

He wanted to cry. He needed to cry. But he couldn’t. The tears weren’t coming. He had to cry but his body wouldn’t allow it and everything was falling apart and now he was on his knees in the middle of the floor but he couldn’t even remember how he’d got there.

“Cheol,” came Leeteuk’s heartbroken whisper from the doorway. “Cheol … I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?” Seungcheol croaked, his chest feeling like some boundless void and his throat suspiciously full and his eyes suspiciously dry. “What … happened?”

Leeteuk shuffled over and sat down beside him, one hand reaching out to rub soothing circles between his shoulder blades as he choked out the words, “Your father… He found another woman.”

Why hadn’t he called her? He should have called her. When was the last time he’d called her? If he’d called her, maybe he could have suspected something. If he’d called her, maybe he could have pulled her out of here before … He should have called her.

“Is she dead?”

“Yes.”

The whispered confession felt like a knife to his chest. A burning knife lathered with poison that pumped its way through his entire body in a matter of seconds, pulsating with white hot agony and turning every one of his defensive shields to mush.

“How long?”

“The day you left.” 

Seungcheol’s heart squeezed painfully.

It was just like Soobin to take away anything good, anything kind, anything Seungcheol had ever cherished and crush it into the ground like it was nothing more than dirt beneath his shoe.

His mother … His mother …

“You need to head back, Cheol,” Leeteuk murmured, fastening a hand around Seungcheol’s elbow and heaving him to his feet. “Your team … There isn’t much time …”

“My team?” Seungcheol echoed blankly, swaying on the spot as his leader instincts battled the wrongness and the confusion.

The same wrongness and confusion that had shone so prominently in Junhui’s eyes. 

“Wonbin is up to something. You need to go.” 

His phone was still vibrating in his pocket but only now did he pull it out and survey the screen, Jihoon’s code pixelated in large white numbers that leapt right out of the device and stopped Seungcheol’s heart in his chest.

“We’re under attack …” came the harsh whisper as soon as he accepted the call. “You need to be here, like … yesterday.”

His voice was hitched and cracked, so much so that it barely sounded like Jihoon at all. Seungcheol hadn’t thought that boy was capable of feeling anything besides irritation and anger but what he was hearing right now could only have been terror.

“Where are you?”

“Barricaded in the tech room with Seokmin, Chan … and ...”

Seungcheol was already running back down the stairs, his palms sweating and his heart suddenly thumping against his ribcage as he imagined all the horrible things that could be happening to his people right now.

He kept screwing up. First Junhui’s capture, then his mother’s murder and now his entire team’s attack. He kept jeopardising the people he loved, kept letting them down, letting them get hurt … letting them get killed.

“Sit tight …” he pleaded. “I’m … Shit, I’m coming so just … sit tight.”

There was no way he was going to get there in time.

“Cheol … Ch-Cheol,” Jihoon choked, his voice breaking. “We … There’s so much blood and I … I don’t know how to make it stop …”

Seungcheol lost his footing and only just managed to prevent himself from tumbling down the stairs such was the intensity of his horror as the popping of bullets exploded in the background on Jihoon’s end of the line.

A door crashed open, Seokmin screamed and the call went dead. 

Somebody was hurt. It could have been Seokmin, Chan, Jihoon or somebody else entirely. It could be Wonwoo. Joshua. Hansol. Soonyoung. They were all alone and outnumbered and Seungcheol wasn’t even there.

He was hours away.

“Cheol, you have to leave,” Leeteuk hissed desperately, giving him an encouraging shove to kickstart him back into movement. “You have to go now!”

Seungcheol swallowed the thick globule of phlegm that had lodged itself halfway up his throat as he turned around and pressed Suga’s keys into Leeteuk’s hand.

“Here, take this back to Min Suga for me … and … Leeteuk, please … please come find me … I can keep you safe … I can get you out … I … I know he hits you.”

That was a lie. He hadn’t known. Not for sure, anyway. But from the look on Leeteuk’s face, the fear and the sadness that flashed across his eyes, he realised his suspicions had been more than correct.

He didn't understand. His uncle loved Leeteuk more than life itself but then again … His father had loved his mother.

“I won’t be able to get to you where I’m going,” Leeteuk hissed, giving him another shove towards the door. “Your uncle will know I warned you. Just … go … go, please, before they come back.”

They were going to kill him. Or worse. But there was no time to bargain now that Seungcheol’s team was in danger and dying.

Sending one final imploring glance back at Leeteuk’s hopeless expression, he pelted into the underground parking lot and started his engine. 

His father had murdered his mother. His uncle was going to do something horrible to Leeteuk. There was no way he was ever coming back here, not now that he knew what kind of monsters his family were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... We apologise in advance.


	20. The Perfect Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want this chapter to hurt even more, listen to 'It's My Time' by Filter while you read it.
> 
> And please visit this website - https://yemencrisis.carrd.co/ - and do what you can to help with the crisis in Yemen. So many people are dying, including children, and their health care system has collapsed.

There was a saying in the underworld: “the perfect storm”. Seungcheol had only ever heard it used when it came to a mission like a raid or an undercover operation but, in theory, it could apply to anything. Like right now.

The perfect storm. When literally everything that could possibly go wrong … does.

Seungcheol’s existence was crumbling at the seams, his mother’s face flashing before his eyes no matter how desperately he tried to push her aside. He needed her gone, just for today, just for this moment right here because he couldn’t afford to be weak. He’d already done that enough.

It had taken every ounce of self-restraint he possessed not to break every speed limit known to man as he tore up the distance between what he used to and what he now called home.

Nobody was answering their phones. The comms were down. Whoever had attacked them had probably cut the electricity and blocked the signals, effectively cutting them off from anybody and everybody that could help them.

The desperation was so intense that Seungcheol seriously considered calling the police. It took several moments to convince himself just how stupid of an idea that would be even though it might very well be his team’s only chance at survival.

Two hours. That was how long the drive should have been but, with his strategic route-taking and speed-camera-avoiding techniques, Seungcheol made it in an hour and forty-five.

The world had already taken his mother. It wasn’t going to take his friends, too.

Gun in hand, knife resting readily on his hip, he shouldered open the front door and slinked into the darkened entryway, resolutely ignoring the bloodstains on the floor and the bullet holes in the wall at eye level.

There were bodies, too. Strewn left, right and centre. Some of them face down, some of them flat on their backs, some of them missing their heads altogether as their mangled corpses formed a morbid flower path down the corridor.

Seungcheol nudged each one of them with his toe as he passed by, checking faces and uniforms and breathing a sigh of relief when he recognised none of them. At least he knew that his people hadn’t gone down without a fight.

It was eerily quiet as he proceeded towards the tech room where he hoped Jihoon, Seokmin and Chan had managed to keep themselves safe and alive as they waited for him to arrive. Maybe the battle had already ended.

Had these people obtained what they’d come for and left a bouquet of bloodied bodies for Seungcheol to find upon his return? Or had Joshua, Junhui and the others managed to fend them off? Right now, there was no way of knowing.

He should have been here. He never should have left. He should have told his father to go fuck himself and stayed right where he was. Right where he was needed. Right where he should have and should always be.

At least one of his guys was hurt. That’s what Jihoon had said.

_“There’s so much blood and I … I don’t know how to make it stop …”_

That had been almost two hours ago. Somebody – one of Seungcheol’s somebodies – had been bleeding out almost two hours ago. What were the chances that they were still alive right now?

He should have been here.

Something moved from the adjacent passageway, a shadow glancing across the floor and a virtually silent intake of breath as whoever it was sensed Seungcheol’s presence just as he’d sensed theirs.

He raised his gun to eye level, heated palms steaming up the metal and leaving it slick and slippery in his grasp as he crept forwards, trigger finger itching to twitch as soon as he came face to face with whatever threat was waiting for him around that corner.

_Three … two … one …_

He lurched into the cross-section, firearm swivelling to point directly into the bloodied face of Junhui.

“Fuck …” the boy cursed, lowering his own gun and reaching out to clap Seungcheol on the shoulder in a gesture of relief. “Took you long enough.”

As if Seungcheol hadn’t known that already. As if he hadn’t been biting his lip the entire drive up here. As if he hadn’t been close to shooting every single person he had to stop for at a crosswalk and wait for at an intersection.

Scanning Junhui up and down, he took note of the bloody smears on his cheek, the stains on his jacket and the scarlet dye beneath his fingernails but he couldn’t see a single wound.

It wasn’t until he glanced over the boy’s shoulder that he understood why.

Joshua was standing just behind him, his hands drenched and dripping with individual crimson rivulets that were steadily painting a pretty pointillism pattern on the concrete floor but now that he’d identified the intruder as Seungcheol, his attention was diverted.

Diverted to Wonwoo who looked white as a sheet and barely even conscious, one arm draped over Soonyoung’s shoulders and the other pinning a soiled rag to his left side as he swayed and stumbled on the spot.

“What happened?” Seungcheol hissed, side-stepping Junhui and reaching out to help Joshua secure the pressure over Wonwoo’s wound. “Who did this?”

He had no idea if the injury had been inflicted by a bullet, a blade or a blast of shrapnel and he couldn’t afford to check when they weren’t in a secure location and within reach of a decent stash of medical supplies.

“Well, they’re Japanese …” Soonyoung muttered through gritted teeth, struggling beneath Wonwoo’s deadened weight. “So you take a guess.”

Takashima.

He’d probably found one or more of the trackers they’d planted on him and figured out that somebody was trying to hunt him down. This was retaliation. This was that monster’s way of eradicating the threat to his business.

“How many are dead?”

“A lot,” Junhui responded vaguely, still with his gun clutched in both hands and his senses on the highest alert. “But not enough. We were trying to make it to the med bay before Wonwoo bled out.”

At the mention of his name, the injured party let out a constricted groan, eyelids fluttering and head lolling against Soonyoung’s shoulder, and Seungcheol felt concern developing into panic.

“Woozi’s in the tech room,” he relayed shortly. “Somebody’s with him and they’re hurt. I need to get there so are you two going to be able to get Wonwoo to the med bay and stop the bleeding?”

He looked at Soonyoung and Joshua as he said it, hating the idea of sending them out alone with a dying boy and limited protection when they still had absolutely no idea how many of Takashima’s people were still alive and roaming around the place.

But the look of determination on Soonyoung’s face as he hoisted Wonwoo slightly higher in his grip and the strength in the nod that Joshua gave him secured the faith Seungcheol should have had in them from the start.

“Okay, go,” he said. “Lock yourselves in there and do what you can for him. We’ll join you as soon as possible.”

He gave himself three seconds to watch them go, Wonwoo leaning heavily on Soonyoung while Joshua kept a firm grip on his upper arm with one hand and an equally firm grip on his gun with the other, before he turned on his heel and sped towards the tech room with Junhui at his side. 

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

“I was in the meeting room with Jooheon and Shua,” Junhui relayed instantly. “Jihoon raised the alarm, people started shooting and everything went to shit. Jooheon went to grab DK and the new kid while me and Shua went to see what was going on. By then, they’d already breached the entrance. Hoshi arrived along with the Chop Shop, it was an absolute bloodbath, Wonwoo got stabbed and I lost track of what went down after that.”

Seungcheol gave a grim nod as he stepped indifferently over another headless corpse, recognising the work as Minghao’s. He could only hope that boy was somewhere safe, preferably with Seungkwan and Hansol, too, since they were the ones Seungcheol had heard nothing from.

If Shownu and his guys were here as well, that was just more people Seungcheol would be responsible for killing. But that was the worst-case scenario. They weren’t there yet.

“Something happened, didn’t it?” Junhui muttered scrupulously, prompting Seungcheol’s eyes to snap up and stare at him. “I can see it in your eyes. Something happened while you were in Daegu.”

Seungcheol didn’t want to answer him. If he opened his mouth right now and admitted that his father had killed his mother in cold blood, it would make it far too real far too quickly and there were people who were counting on him to keep it together.

“We’re here,” he said instead, skidding to a halt in front of the tech room and feeling his heart lurch.

Every door in the building was reinforced with bulletproof material but that hadn’t stopped these people from emptying a couple of rounds into it during their attempt to gain access. It looked like somebody had attacked it with an axe, too, the paintwork chipped and dented.

But they hadn’t gotten in.

“Woozi!” Seungcheol called, slamming his palm against the door. “Woozi, it’s Coups! Woozi, it’s safe! Open up!”

For far too long, it was silent. For far too long, Seungcheol wondered if maybe they weren’t inside after all. For far too long, Seungcheol wondered if maybe they _were_ inside but they weren’t able to answer.

“Okay …”

Thank God. Thank God, thank God, thank God.

There was a scraping sound from the other side of the door, as if somebody was dragging something large and heavy across the floor, before the multitude of locks clicked and clunked into place and the barrier swung open.

“Fuck …” Seungcheol breathed before he could stop himself, hearing Junhui’s sharp intake of breath behind him.

Jihoon looked like he’d been hit by a bus, and that was putting it politely. He wasn’t wearing a jacket for the first time since Seungcheol had met him, leaving his blood-smeared arms and scarred wrists on full display and exposing the scarlet-soaked material of his T-Shirt to the open.

He reached up with one violently trembling hand, eye movements erratic and jerky as he raked his fingers through his dishevelled mop of hair and stained the reddened strands even redder.

“Jihoon …”

Seungcheol took him by the shoulders and gently pushed him backwards so that he and Junhui could enter the room and Jihoon went willingly, his gaze resolutely averted and his eyes glassy and glazed.

“It’s okay, Jihoon … It’s okay.”

Still holding the boy, worried he would fall over if he let go, he swept his eyes across the rest of the room and took in the scene before him without allowing himself to feel the slightest hint of emotion.

Right now, emotion was his enemy.

Because there was a body on the floor.

It wasn’t moving, it wasn’t breathing and Jihoon’s jacket had been draped over its head to conceal its face but Seungcheol could still see the smudges, smears and splatters of blood that would forever be inked into the tech room floor.

Chan was kneeling at its feet, still pasty and pale and slightly sweaty from his withdrawal, clutching a blanket around his shoulders and shivering violently as he stared at the corpse in front of him with puffy red eyes.

And then Seokmin. On his knees, too, but, this time, beside the body’s head. His hands were held out in front of him, hovering in mid-air and quivering like leaves in the wind while he gaped at them and the blood that was dripping from his fingertips to splash onto the ground.

Somebody was dead. Somebody was _dead._

“We …” Jihoon stuttered, voice rough as sandpaper. “We tried to … erm … stop the bleeding but … err …”

Seungcheol didn’t want to hear anymore. He didn’t want to hear about how desperately these three had tried to save this person’s life and how helpless they’d felt once they realised their efforts were going to waste.

Swallowing the dread back down, he helped lower Jihoon’s shaking figure down to sit on the floor where he was safer, and then slowly walked over to where one of his people was lying, lifeless and gone and never to come back again.

He’d already lost his mother tonight and, any moment now, he was about to lose somebody else, too. Some part of him didn’t want to find out who but the rest of him knew that he would just be denying the inevitable torture.

Lowering himself to one knee, he set his gun on the floor by his foot and reached out towards the jacket with a hand that should have been trembling, that should have been feeling _something_ , but wasn’t.

His fingers closed around the leather sleeve and pulled.

Jooheon.

Emotion was his enemy. Emotion was his enemy. Emotion was his enemy. He couldn’t feel right now. He _couldn’t_ feel right now. If he opened those floodgates and allowed the guilt and the grief to flow through then it wasn’t ever going to stop.

“I tried …” Seokmin was whispering on a loop, tears streaking down his cheeks as he slowly lowered his hands to rest against his thighs. “I tried … I … He did this for us … He got us in here and he … we were barricading the door but they … they shot him and … I tried …”

Seungcheol didn’t doubt it but just one look at the wound in Jooheon’s neck told him that it wouldn’t have mattered.

The bullet had punctured his throat just to the right of his trachea, ripping straight through his jugular and his carotid and leaving a crimson chasm of skin, sinew and gristle where his neck should have been.

He would have bled out in seconds. Not even the greatest surgeon on the planet would have been able to save him.

His eyes were open, misted, the lights from the ceiling reflected in his irises. His lips were parted, dried blood clinging to the corner of his mouth and individual flecks speckled against his chin and cheek, probably caused by the spurt from his severed vessels.

It was quick, Seungcheol told himself as though that would somehow quell the swirling cesspit of self-hatred in his gut. Jooheon hadn’t suffered for long and the shock would have made the process relatively painless. It was quick.

As if that made it any easier to deal with.

“I’m so sorry …” Seungcheol whispered, too quiet for anybody else to hear as he reached out and gently closed Jooheon’s eyes. Now he looked like he could be sleeping. “You deserved better than this.”

Nineteen. The kid had died at nineteen. He had the personality of a puppy. He had a bright smile and dimpled cheeks. Nineteen.

How the fuck was he supposed to tell Hyunwoo?

“Coups,” came Junhui’s lilting call from where he was still standing by the door, as though trying to detach himself from reality. “It’s not safe to stay here. We should all be together.”

Seungcheol nodded, closed his eyes and then carefully draped the jacket back over Jooheon’s face. He wasn’t sure exactly why. Maybe it was to preserve the boy’s dignity, maybe it was to save himself from having to look at him. He didn’t know.

“I’ll come back for you,” he breathed before he straightened up and pulled both Seokmin and Chan to their feet. “We need to go. Can you walk?”

Chan’s head bobbed numbly but his steps were still unsteady as he tottered towards the door. Seokmin needed a little more encouragement, Seungcheol’s hand resting against his lower back causing him to flinch, and Jihoon still looked like he was about to pass out.

Despite that, Junhui managed to get the three of them out into the corridor. The med bay was on the same floor, less than twenty feet away, but Seungcheol didn’t want to risk dragging a dead body around when there could still be gunmen in his hallways.

When he could be sure that everybody was safe and there were no longer a posse of faceless threats slinking around the building, he would go back for Jooheon. He would take him to Hyunwoo, he would help them give him a proper burial. He would.

But, for now, he simply closed the door behind him and steered Seokmin towards the med bay.

Joshua let them in on the first knock, what looked like an extra gallon of blood seeping through his clothes and his brow creased in concern. Immediately after unlocking the door, he stumbled back over to the nearest bed where he was clearly needed more.

Kihyun and Wonho were already in there, Kihyun shouting various instructions and demanding various medical instruments from Soonyoung as he stooped over Wonwoo’s unconscious body with his tongue caught between his teeth.

Joshua filtered right back into his role, slipping an oxygen mask over their patient’s face while Junhui re-bolted the door behind them and Kihyun started stitching up the colossal separation of skin in Wonwoo’s side.

“Let me help,” Seokmin mumbled, still a little disorientated even as he pulled a pair of gloves on over his already-bloodied hands and waited for Kihyun’s orders.

Seungcheol glanced over at Wonho who was perched on the edge of one of the other beds, cradling his arm against his chest and watching the emergency surgery proceeding before him. It looked like his shoulder was dislocated but there was no pain on his face, only concern.

And Seungcheol was trying to figure out how to tell him that his best friend was dead.

“Sit down,” he murmured, guiding Jihoon and Chan into chairs so that he wouldn’t have to worry about them collapsing while he hastened to Wonwoo’s side.

It wasn’t pretty. Wonwoo’s skin had virtually no colour, his chest was sputtering and the wound Kihyun was trying to sew up stretched from his naval all the way round to his back. The blood loss would be catastrophic.

“The knife didn’t hit any major organs,” Kihyun reported between stitches. “But he’s lost at least two pints and he’s still going. I’m doing what I can.”

Seungcheol had to tell him. He deserved to know. But he couldn’t find the words and, even if he spent an entire lifetime searching, he wasn’t sure he ever would. Nevertheless, he opened his mouth to try but Wonho’s shout of pain cut him off.

“Don’t be a baby,” Junhui chastised as he stepped away from where the much larger guy was gingerly rotating his shoulder in its socket. “You’re welcome.”

He snatched his gun up from where he’d left it beside Wonho on the bed and glanced over at Seungcheol with an expectant raise of his eyebrow.

“I’m going back out to find the others. Are you coming?”

Anything to escape this room. Anything to avoid having to watch Wonwoo’s sweat-sodden body spasming in pain despite his unconsciousness. Anything to get away from Kihyun who was concentrating so hard on saving their boy that he hadn’t even noticed just how much blood the others were caked in.

“I’m coming.”

He was ashamed of himself. He was a coward. A selfish fucking coward who couldn’t even convey the information that needed to be conveyed.

Pushing the pain down a little further and then a little further and then even further, he followed Junhui out of the door and into the body-strewn hallway.

“Don’t tell them,” the boy instructed without deterring his focus from the path ahead of him.

“What?”

“Don’t tell them about Jooheon. Not until we’re all safe. It’ll only throw them off, make them mad and potentially get them killed. So don’t tell them.”

Seungcheol didn’t respond. He thought about how he would feel in Kihyun and Wonho’s position. About how he would react if he found out that Minghao or Joshua or Seungkwan was dead and nobody had bothered to let him know.

But the mere suggestion of something so terrible had him shoving the idea to the back of his mind. He was still yet to see Seungkwan, Minghao or Hansol so, for all he knew, they could very well be lying on the ground in some darkened corner with their eyes staring at nothing and their throats ripped out.

Like Jooheon.

Jooheon whom Seungcheol had left alone. 

Jooheon whom Seungcheol had abandoned.

Jooheon whom Seungcheol had as good as killed.

“We got movement,” Junhui hissed from ahead of him as he peered through the crack in the training room door. “Friendlies.”

Seungcheol could only nod in response, unsure whether what he was feeling was relief at having found more of their people or disappointment that he didn’t get to kill anybody else. And he wanted to kill. He wanted to kill a lot.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Hyungwon shouted in exasperation, throwing his arms in the air like he wasn’t carrying a machete in one hand. “I thought you were dead! Thought I’d finally get some peace and quiet around here!”

“You’re a moron,” Junhui shot back but the spite in his tone was marred by the happiness on his face as he strode over to his friend, gripped his hand and reeled him in for a bone-crushing hug. 

The blade of Hyungwon’s weapon was tainted scarlet and he was literally standing in a pool of blood belonging to the body that lay at his feet but he still looked so … gleeful. Like his twisted twin, he seemed to take pleasure in death.

That would change as soon as he found out about Jooheon, though.

Seungcheol glanced around, taking in the sight of what had once been a neat and systematically-ordered training room but now resembled more of a battlefield.

There were bodies. A lot of them. More than a dozen, strewn left, right and centre with varying degrees of amputation having occurred. Some had lost arms, others legs, most of them heads, as if somebody had been enjoying slicing the human frame into multiple pieces.

“You did all this by yourself?” Seungcheol questioned sceptically.

Hyungwon was good but it was pretty difficult to be _that_ good.

“Alas, no,” the boy denied with an exaggerated sigh. “He helped.”

Seungcheol glanced over his shoulder and felt a tiny fragment of the weight sitting in his chest just vanish there on the spot at the sight of Minghao crouching down beside one of the corpses, spindly fingers digging into the crook of its neck.

He sent his leader a distracted wave before swiftly moving onto the next body, checking for any signs of life that could maybe be used to torture answers out of.

Seungcheol highly doubted that anybody would still be breathing after an attack from both Minghao and Hyungwon combined but he had to admit that, if one of these suckers was alive, he would be thankful for the opportunity to get some information.

Like where Takashima was, how he’d found them and how they could take him down. Not just for Minghao’s family now but for Jooheon, too.

“You seen any of the others?” Junhui piped up as he joined the scrutiny of the multiple bodies at their feet. “Seungkwan? Hansol?”

Hyungwon shook his head and Seungcheol knew what was coming next. No amount of praying and hoping would prevent his sins from confronting him so soon after his crime had been committed.

“You seen any of my guys?”

Yes, was the answer. Yes, they’d seen almost all of his guys since IM and Minhyuk were still at the chop shop, safely out of harm’s way. But, “yes, they’re alive” was the answer Hyungwon wanted and it was the only one they couldn’t give him.

Seungcheol didn’t want to look him in the eye as he said it. He didn’t think he even _could_ look him in the eye as he said it and every fibre of his being was pleading with whatever holy deity was still up there that he didn’t have to say it at all.

And only now did that holy deity decide to listen.

“Coups, gun!” Hyungwon screamed from the opposite corner of the room and Seungcheol whipped around just in time to see one of the broken bodies raising its weapon with a trembling hand.

He was barely even alive, blood dripping down his chin and left arm hanging by what looked like a single ligament but still he managed to take perfect aim and pull the trigger at the exact same time that Seungcheol did.

The shots overlapped, almost every eardrum shattering from the colossal reverberation the training room walls provided, and the half-dead gunman flopped back onto the ground with a perfectly clean hole carved into the bone between his eyes.

“You okay?” Junhui called, his footsteps getting louder as he hastened to Seungcheol’s side. “Did he get you?”

“No,” Seungcheol assured him after a quick check of his chest and abdomen. “He missed. Thanks, Hyungwon, you just saved my …”

He turned around and everything stopped.

_Be careful what you wish for._

“No …”

Hyungwon was on the ground, his head in Minghao’s lap and both sets of hands clamping down on his stomach as blood seeped through the training mat beneath him at an alarming pace.

“NO!” Junhui roared as both he and Seungcheol sprinted the length of the room and skidded to their knees beside Hyungwon’s steadily paling body. “No, no, no, no, no … Please!”

He wrenched him out of Minghao’s grip and into his own, pillowing the boy’s head in the crook of his elbow, pressing his hand into the wound in a feeble attempt to staunch the bleeding and letting his first tear slip as Hyungwon drew in a stuttered breath of pain.

“Please, please … Please …”

Hyungwon’s eyes were leaking, his lip was quivering and his gaze was fixed on Junhui’s crumpled face looming over him as his chest spasmed and sputtered with the effort of breathing now that there was a bullet in his body.

A bullet that should have been Seungcheol’s to take.

“Jun …” Hyungwon whispered on a gasp, still without lifting his eyes from his friend’s even as Junhui shook his head frantically from side to side. “Jun … Jun, I don’t wanna go yet …”

“You’re not going anywhere, Hyungwon,” Seungcheol cut in, his words thick and completely void of truth. “Just hang on for a second, okay? We’re gonna get you to the med bay and Kihyun’s gonna patch you up.”

There were tears on Junhui’s face as he slipped his arm beneath Hyungwon’s knees. Seungcheol hadn’t even known that Junhui was capable of crying but apparently he just hadn’t seen the boy on the verge of losing something he loved more than anything.

Minghao tried to support Hyungwon’s head as Junhui prepared to lift him off the ground but they’d barely risen two inches before the bleeding boy let out a strangled scream of pain and fisted his sodden fingers in the front of Junhui’s shirt.

“Stop …” he choked brokenly. “Stop, stop … stop … please … stop …”

“Okay,” Junhui conceded at once, sinking back down onto the floor and tucking Hyungwon’s head beneath his chin so he wouldn’t have to see him crying. “Okay, I’m sorry. Okay.”

Hyungwon’s eyes were closed, breath escaping in short, sharp, uneven bursts and sweat rolling down his face to combine with the blood and the tears. His hand slipped from Junhui’s shirt and slithered down onto the floor at his side.

From where he was positioned behind their patient, Minghao looked up and caught Seungcheol’s eye with an expression of helpless dread on his face.

“No exit wound,” he murmured softly.

Seungcheol wanted to scream. Scream until his throat ripped itself in half. Scream until his voice gave out. Scream until the world came to an end because there was no way this could be happening. There was just no way the planet was dolling out a lifetime of torture in one night.

His mother. Jooheon. And now Hyungwon, too.

No exit wound meant that the bullet was still in his body and, contrary to popular belief, the body was not built to have a bullet in it. There was a whole host of horrific complications that could be going on inside Hyungwon’s chest right now and he was in too much pain for them to move him.

Junhui was still crying, still keeping Hyungwon’s body clamped to his chest.

“Hyungwon …” Seungcheol started without knowing how he was supposed to finish. “Hyungwon … I …”

“Shut up,” Hyungwon interrupted breathlessly, eyelids cracking open to reveal bloodshot whites and dilated pupils. “Just shut up, Cheol … I’m not … I’m not wasting my … my dying breath on telling you not … to blame yourself …”

“You’re not dying,” Junhui insisted, cupping one of his hands against the boy’s cheek and pulling his head back so they could look at each other. “You are not dying, okay? You … You promised me, remember? We die together … We die together …”

Hyungwon blinked sluggishly and a fresh tidal wave of tears slid over his skin as his lips formed a watery smile.

“Don’t … lie to me … I’m … scared … so don’t lie … to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Junhui repeated, stooping slightly so that their foreheads could touch. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I … I don’t know what to do …”

Minghao was crying, too. Silently and respectfully staying out of the way so the two of them could have this moment while still allowing himself to grieve. But Seungcheol couldn’t even get his eyes to water.

Hyungwon reached up, movements wobbly and staggered, and curled a grip around the bloodied hand Junhui had rested against his cheek, pulling it down so their fingers could interlock in the small space between their chests.

“You can … hold … my hand …” His voice was so quiet that it was barely audible. “And … you can … tell me … that …”

“I love you,” Junhui cut him off before he could finish. “I love you, baby, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you …”

He kept going, repeating himself on an endless loop with his forehead still pressed right up against Hyungwon’s and his arm still wrapped around Hyungwon’s shoulders to keep him pinned to his chest and his fingers still interwoven with Hyungwon’s and his tears still falling for Hyungwon.

“I love you, I love you, I love you …”

It was like a broken record that kept playing even after those rattling wheezes had stopped.


	21. Expendable Pawns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://yemencrisis.carrd.co/

“Jun …”

He didn’t know what to say.

“Jun …”

Junhui wasn’t listening to him. Either that or he was ignoring him. The only thing that existed in his world was Hyungwon’s lifeless body in his arms and Hyungwon’s limp hand in his grip and Hyungwon’s greying face against his chest.

“Jun …”

“Go away.”

The words were barely distinguishable, muffled from where Junhui had his mouth pressed against Hyungwon’s hair, but Seungcheol heard them loud and clear. If he hadn’t before felt like he was the one who’d been shot, he did now.

“Jun …” he tried stupidly, wanting to reach out for the boy’s shoulder but terrified that he would end up with a knife in his throat. “Jun … Please …”

“Just go away!” Junhui screamed, tear-stained face screwed up and white-knuckled grip tightening on Hyungwon’s colourless corpse. “Leave us alone!”

He’d never seen Junhui like this. He’d never seen anyone like this. So overcome with grief and anger and mind-numbing agony that screaming until his throat was raw was the only thing he could think to do.

Seungcheol had done this. If he’d been here, these people would have gotten what they came for. If he’d been here, he would have been killed and his people would have been allowed to live. If he’d been here, he could have prevented this.

Jooheon. Hyungwon. Maybe more that he didn’t even know about yet.

He would carry their souls on his shoulders for the rest of his life, the images of their bloodied bodies imprinted into the backs of his eyelids and their names added to the steadily lengthening list of people who’d died because of Choi Seungcheol.

“Okay,” he whispered in defeat, rising from the floor and taking a step back. “I’m sorry, Jun.”

He left the room with Minghao at his side, neither of them uttering a word as they dragged themselves back to the med bay. And Seungcheol still couldn’t cry. His eyes weren’t even moist and he hated himself for it.

He should be preparing to get on his knees in front of Hyunwoo and grovel for forgiveness. Tears weren’t going to exactly help in that situation but at least their presence would prove that he wasn’t a robot who couldn’t give a fuck about the people he’d killed.

His mind had convinced him that, as soon as he stepped through the med bay door, everybody would immediately stop what they were doing and turn to stare at him. Like they knew what he’d done. Like they were trying to poison him with their eyes because that was less than he deserved.

But there was too much going on for anybody to even glance upwards when he and Minghao stumbled over the threshold.

Wonwoo was still unconscious, oxygen mask fogging up with every breath, but a jacket had been draped over his chest to conceal the bandages Seungcheol knew would be wrapped around his abdomen and he almost looked like he could just be asleep. Joshua was at his side, periodically checking on his breathing and heart rate between the cleaning of the wound in his own wrist.

Chan and Jihoon were sitting on the floor in the corner, the maknae leaning on the gremlin’s shoulder, well out of the way of everything else. Jihoon’s hair was wet, his clothes were different and the blood had been cleansed from his body but he still had a vacant look in his eyes as he threaded his trembling fingers through Chan’s hair.

Hansol, Mingi and Hyunwoo had arrived at some point, too, but they were all hanging back, watching with concern as Seokmin, Kihyun and Soonyoung tried to stop Seungkwan’s bleeding.

The boy was propped up against Wonho’s chest on one of the beds, eyes closed and breathing forcibly steadied despite the scarlet stains that were permeating the material of his cargo pants and spreading steadily.

Somebody’s belt was tightened around the top of his leg and three pairs of hands were clamping enormous wads of gauze to the inside of his thigh in an attempt to stop the leak that must have been arterial if the sheer amount of blood was anything to go by.

Seungcheol felt sick just looking at it. Seungkwan was going to need a transfusion which meant they were either going to have to offer up their own blood or raid a hospital which meant they would be endangering their lives and their covers and … It was all too much.

“You’re here,” Hyunwoo declared, sounding surprised and a little breathless as he turned to face the new arrivals. “Is everything clear? Did … Are you okay?”

That was what got the attention from everybody who wasn’t trying to save Seungkwan’s life and Seungcheol suddenly felt unbelievably small and unbelievably vulnerable and unbelievably disgusted with himself and everything he’d ever stood for.

Minghao stepped away from his side, walked straight up to Joshua and buried his face in the crook of the older boy’s neck. Joshua frowned in confusion but reached up to reciprocate the embrace, catching Seungcheol’s eye over the top of the kid’s head and mouthing a silent question.

Seungcheol looked down at his hands, at the blood that was crusted beneath his fingernails and in every crevice of his skin. It would take ages to scrub it all out. He could see it now: the water in the shower running red as he washed the last traces of Hyungwon down the drain.

“Where’s Jun?” Hansol asked, eyes rallying between Seungcheol and the door, as though he was expecting Jun to just saunter in with one of those shit-eating grins on his face at any moment.

“Where’s Hyungwon?” Hyunwoo added, rising anxiety evident from the crease in his brow and the urgency in his words. “And Jooheon?”

Words. Seungcheol needed words and yet words were exactly what he didn’t have. He couldn’t even remember how he was supposed to get them and now he was just standing, opening and shutting his mouth like a goldfish and everybody was panicking because he was drenched in blood that clearly wasn’t his and …

“Seungcheol!” Hyunwoo shouted, striding forwards and grabbing his fellow leader by the shoulders. “Where are they?”

“Jooheon’s dead.”

Just hearing somebody say it made it real. The words cemented the reality and carved the dates in the headstone and made it completely impossible for Seungcheol to deny the truth any longer.

“He’s … He’s d …” Hyunwoo stammered, releasing Seungcheol and taking a step back. “He’s …”

Everything had stopped moving.

Seungkwan was barely conscious, eyes only half open and head rolling against Wonho’s shoulder as Kihyun’s movements froze. Soonyoung and Seokmin kept going, working away at the wound in their friend’s thigh, but their hands were shaking and Seokmin kept reaching up to swipe at his eyes.

“He’s dead,” Jihoon repeated, rising to his feet and moving to stand at Seungcheol’s side. Whether to provide comfort or to ask for it, nobody knew. “He was shot in the neck. He died protecting us.”

Wonho wasn’t listening. Kihyun’s eyes were quickly filling. And Hyunwoo was just staring, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Jooheon to leap out of the shadows and shout ‘surprise’ and for everything to have a happy ending.

“A …” he started, clearing his throat in an unsuccessful attempt to get rid of the cracks in his voice. “And Hy … Hyungwon?”

Seungcheol opened his mouth, knowing that he was the only one who could deal the next blow, but he couldn’t get a single sound to come out.

The squeak of boots on polished panels had him glancing over his shoulder and he was glad for that reaction since it prevented him from seeing Hyunwoo, Kihyun and Wonho’s faces when Junhui stepped into the room with the body in his arms.

He wasn’t crying anymore and his eyes weren’t even red but there was no life there. None of that typical Junhui sparkle. His jaw was set and square, his teeth were clenched and his gaze was deliberately avoiding every single one of them.

And then Hyungwon was … just boneless. A marionette with its strings cut. Head hanging, arms gently swinging, eyes closed, soaked in his own blood and completely pulseless.

Behind Seungcheol, there was the unmistakable sound of Hyunwoo’s knees hitting the floor but he couldn’t turn around. He couldn’t even move as Junhui strode past him towards the last available bed and laid Hyungwon’s body down as carefully as if he were made of glass.

“Hyunwoo, I’m so sorry,” Seungcheol choked, unable to look at the chop shop’s leader kneeling on the ground with his face drained of colour and his eyes unfocused. “I … If there’s anything I can do to …”

“We shouldn’t have been here,” Hyunwoo whispered in a monotone, staring at something that wasn’t there. “This wasn’t our fight.”

“I know, and I …”

“This wasn’t our fight!” Hyunwoo roared, springing to his feet and lunging forwards to curl his fists in the front of Seungcheol’s shirt. “This wasn’t our fucking fight, you fucking bastard!”

Seungcheol allowed himself to be bulldozed across the room until his back slammed against the wall and his head bounced painfully off the brickwork. But he didn’t wince, he didn’t make a sound, he didn’t resist.

This was what Hyunwoo needed to do and Seungcheol was going to let him do it. Whatever it was.

“You call us for everything!” the leader bellowed, tears he didn’t seem to even notice beginning to trickle over his cheekbones. “We’re not here to hold your fucking hand! We’re not your backup! This wasn’t what we signed up for, you motherfucker!”

“I know –”

“Then why do you treat us like pawns?” Hyunwoo gasped, this time terrifyingly quiet. It was a billion times worse than the yelling. “Why do you treat us like we’re expendable? Why do you drag us into your battles and demand we sacrifice ourselves for you? Why do we have to drop everything every time you screw up?”

Seungcheol said nothing this time. He knew it wasn’t going to help and trying to defend himself for what he’d done was inexcusable. He had no defence, he deserved no forgiveness, he’d had this coming.

“I never should have contacted you … I never should have let you into my life and I never should have let you anywhere near my kids. I … Fuck … They were just kids!”

He let go of Seungcheol and stumbled away, fingers locked in his own hair and shoulders heaving with the effort of coming to terms with what he’d just learned. Kihyun and Wonho were still with Seungkwan, still denying the inevitable, but they must have known they couldn’t deny it forever.

“Hosh …” came a virtually silent whisper from the corner of the room. “Hosh, my head hurts.”

“Just sit down, Mingi,” Soonyoung shot over his shoulder, still engrossed in Seungkwan’s care and completely oblivious to Mingi’s slightly swaying figure standing behind him. “Take an aspirin if it’s that bad.” 

Hyunwoo had made his way over to Hyungwon’s bed where Junhui was still keeping silent vigil and reached out to rest one of his huge hands on his boy’s knee, like he was trying to comfort him from the other side of the veil.

“I … Erm … Hansol, you’re gonna need to come take over from me,” Kihyun stuttered thickly, dragging Hansol over and forcefully pushing the kid’s hands against Seungkwan’s wound. “Just … just give me a minute …”

There were no tears on his face but he looked … like two of his best friends had just died: pale and sweaty and unsteady as he staggered away from the bed and bent at the waist, hands braced on his knees as he took several ragged breaths.

At some point, they were going to have to bring Jooheon’s body in here. At some point, they were going to have to bury him and Hyungwon. At some point, they were going to have to go back to the chop shop and tell Minhyuk and IM why only three of them had come home.

Still hiding in the corner, Mingi pitched forwards and splattered the already-bloodied floor with vomit but no one was even paying attention. A kid spewing his guts at the sight of a dead body was the least of their worries right now.

“I’m sorry,” he wheezed to nobody in particular, gingerly sponging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry. Hoshi …”

“It’s fine,” Hoshi snapped back without even turning around. “We’ll clean it up later. Don’t worry about it.”

“The bleeding’s slowing,” Seokmin reported, carefully peeling the gauze away from Seungkwan’s leg to check on the wound’s progress. “But he’s gonna need a transfusion. I’m a universal donor so we can use mine.”

“Would you be okay with that?” Hansol cut in worriedly. “You could get really sick if we drain too much.”

“It’s fine. I –”

_ THUMP _

Seungcheol had been floating in some kind of dissociated dreamlike state, eyes fixed on the floor so that he wouldn’t have to look at Hyungwon’s body or Wonwoo’s oxygen mask or Seungkwan’s blood or Kihyun and Hyunwoo’s grieving process.

But then Mingi hit the floor and that dreamlike state had to end.

“Fuck …” Seungcheol hissed as he and Wonho, who’d carefully extricated himself from behind Seungkwan, dropped to a crouch beside the fallen boy. “Holy shit …”

Mingi was seizing. His eyes were wide open, his head was wrenched so far backwards that the veins were bulging in his neck, his fingers were contorted into misshapen talons against his chest and a repulsive concoction of spit and foam was dribbling down his chin as his entire body kicked and spasmed against the ground.

“What’s happening?” Soonyoung shouted, craning his neck to try and see over his shoulder without taking pressure off Seungkwan’s leg. “What’s wrong? Tell me what’s happening!”

“He’s having a seizure!” Kihyun fired back, momentarily overcoming his grief so he could grab hold of Mingi’s skull and prevent it from slamming into the ground. “Did anyone see him hit his head?”

Seungcheol knew enough about seizures to know that he had to watch the clock, counting the seconds from when the fit had started to when it ended … because it would end, right? It couldn’t go on forever even though it seemed like it was.

"Yeah, he went down pretty hard in the fight," Hansol called over. "But he got right back up. There was nothing wrong with him."

"He said his head hurt," Seungcheol muttered under his breath as Mingi continued to buck and twist in Kihyun's hands. "He was sick, too."

And now he was seizing.

Seungcheol knew the symptoms of a brain injury and yet he - and the rest of them - had missed the signs. He'd tried to tell them and they hadn't listened. 

“This isn’t good,” Kihyun hissed under his breath, wincing every time Mingi’s body gave a particularly brutal jerk. “This isn’t good, this really isn’t good.”

He still had tears on his face, he was still frighteningly pale but he was focusing all his attention on the patient in front of him and, for that, Seungcheol thought Yoo Kihyun was the most admirable person in this room right now.

The seizure ended. At last. But there wasn’t time to feel relieved.

Mingi’s eyes fluttered closed as his limbs finally grew lax and floppy and his head lolled in Kihyun’s hands. The gruesome cocktail of fluids he’d regurgitated was still dribbling down either side of his face and pooling in the corners of his purplish lips.

He wasn’t breathing.

They had no beds left. Wonwoo was using their only oxygen mask. Seungkwan still required urgent medical care and now Mingi wasn’t breathing. 

There was no way they could handle this. Not without professional help. Not without an ambulance. Not without exactly what they couldn’t have.

“Somebody take over from me!” Soonyoung screamed with cracks in between syllables. “Somebody take over from me right now!”

“We’ve got it,” Hansol fired back, both he and Seokmin shifting their hands in order to cover the loss of pressure on Seungkwan’s wound as Soonyoung flung himself on the floor beside their little huddle.

Kihyun was already doing CPR, knuckles white and brow furrowed and lips pressed together so tightly that they’d lost colour, but Seungcheol could do nothing more than kneel there.

Wonho was lifting Mingi’s eyelids, one at a time, squinting into the bloodshot orbs and cursing under his breath as Soonyoung clutched at his boy’s hand and watched in silent horror.

“Are his pupils responding?” Kihyun gasped over the sound of Mingi’s ribs breaking beneath his hands. The force behind the compressions was actually breaking the kid’s bones.

Wonho sat back on his heels, eyes misted as he caught Kihyun’s gaze and shook his head so minutely that the action was almost undetectable. Seungcheol knew what that shake meant and it unleashed an ice-cold tidal wave of dread in his gut.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t  _ fair! _

“Kihyun!” Seokmin cried anxiously from Seungkwan’s bedside. “Kihyun, his pulse is dropping. I need to do the transfusion now or he’s gonna go into shock.”

Too much. Too much. Too much. Too much.

Seungcheol needed to move, to help, to do something but his medical knowledge was limited to basic first aid and he had absolutely no idea how to do CPR, how to do a blood transfusion, how to cope with the fact that Hyungwon had just taken a bullet for him and Jooheon had given his life to protect his, Seungcheol’s, team.

He’d never felt more helpless and more useless, a pathetic lump of flesh sitting here on his knees beside a boy who was already dead even though nobody was brave enough to be the first to say it.

“Seokmin, you can’t do it,” Kihyun protested between ragged breaths as he continued to pump his arms up and down on Mingi’s chest. “You’re too skinny. He needs more than you can give.”

“Why isn’t it working?” Soonyoung yelled over the cacophony, clutching Mingi’s hand so tightly that he must have been cutting off circulation to his fingers. Circulation that only existed right now because of Kihyun. “Why isn’t he breathing?”

Seungcheol felt like he was having an outer-body experience. There was just no way he could be existing in this time and this moment when so many things were happening that just …  _ shouldn’t  _ be happening.

There wasn’t allowed to be a world without Mingi or Jooheon or Hyungwon or Seungkwan.

But two of those people were long gone, one was only alive because they were all refusing to accept he was dead and the fourth already had a foot in his very bloody grave.

This was the reality and there was no changing that, no matter how hard Seungcheol prayed or blinked or tried to use the power of his mind to warp the world. This was the here and the now and Seungkwan was dying.

“I’m doing the transfusion,” Seokmin declared firmly as he reached for a needle. “He doesn’t have time.”

“No!” Kihyun shouted back. “Seokmin, don’t … Fuck … FUCK!”

Seungcheol had never heard Kihyun scream like that. The boy looked on the verge of insanity, head snapping between Mingi and Seokmin, face red and breathing harsh from the effort of the CPR that he was now … giving up on.

“What?” Soonyoung whispered hoarsely as Kihyun scrambled up off his knees and staggered over to where Seokmin already had the needle inserted in Seungkwan’s arm. “What are you doing? Why … You can’t stop! Why are you stopping?”

“I’m sorry, Soonyoung,” Kihyun whimpered in response, tears splashing down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I have to triage.”

_ I have to prioritise _ , was what he was really saying.  _ I have to help the person who still has a chance by sacrificing the person who doesn’t. _

Mingi had been dead before that seizure had ended. He’d probably been dead before it had even started. He may have even been dead before he’d vomited his guts up and keeled over onto the floor.

For a while, his brain had been bleeding, the pressure in his skull building, the pain verging on unbearable and, eventually, it had reached the point of no return. There was no bringing him back now and Kihyun knew that.

The only problem was that Soonyoung didn’t.

“You can’t stop!” he screeched incessantly, face soaked in tears as he pivoted around on his knees in search of somebody who agreed with him. “You … You can’t stop! You can’t give up! You can’t give up on him!”

“I’m sorry,” Wonho mumbled but he, too, rose to his feet and hastened over to help with Seungkwan.

“No …” Soonyoung panted desperately. “No … No … No!”

Seungcheol could tell he didn’t know how to do CPR but, still, he interlocked his fingers the exact same way Kihyun had, planted the heels of his hands in the centre of Mingi’s already-shattered chest and started mimicking the movements he’d seen just a few seconds ago.

“… can’t stop …” he gasped under his breath. “…can’t stop … can’t stop … can’t stop …”

Seungcheol couldn’t watch.

Joshua was still with Wonwoo, looking as if he wanted to join in and help but knowing that he was needed exactly where he was. Junhui and Hyunwoo hadn’t moved from Hyungwon’s side but the chop shop leader was watching the battle for Seungkwan’s life even if Junhui didn’t seem to be aware of anything other than the corpse in front of him.

Jihoon and Chan were gone, probably having fled to escape the horrors that were unfolding within this room, and everybody else was crowded around one bed.

Seungkwan’s skin was a deathly grey and the sheets beneath him were sodden with scarlet despite Hansol and Wonho’s best efforts to keep a firm enough grip on the severed artery in the patient’s thigh.

“You could die, Seokmin!” Kihyun was shouting, elbowing the pharmacist in the ribs in an attempt to keep him away from the needle. “And nobody else is doing that tonight!”

“You’ve got to let me try!”

“I said –”

It was Hyunwoo that did it, the person Seungcheol probably least expected to want to bring an end to the torment. The one person he least expected to want to actually save a member of the gang that had driven his friends to their deaths.

But it was Hyunwoo nonetheless.

He stormed over, footsteps powerful enough to shake the floor, snatched the line from Kihyun’s hand and, without a second’s hesitation, rammed it into the crook of his elbow. Almost immediately, the blood filled the tube, snaking its way from donor to recipient in a matter of seconds.

“I’m O-Neg, too,” he growled with a flex of his heavily-muscled arm.

He glanced across the room, his gaze locked with Seungcheol’s, and there was some sort of silent communication stream between the two of them in that split second where the only sounds were Soonyoung’s soft sobbing and Mingi’s ribcage continuing to splinter.

There was hatred in Hyunwoo’s stare. Pure hatred. Loathing, in fact. As if saving Seungkwan’s life was singularly the last thing he’d wanted to do.

_ Why should I save your kid when you killed two of mine? _

Yet he was still doing it. Even if it was reluctantly or begrudgingly, he was giving Seungkwan his blood so that nobody else would have to be buried in an unmarked grave tomorrow morning.

“Okay, sit down,” Kihyun was saying, chivvying his boyfriend to perch on the edge of the bed and taping the needle against his skin. “Keep talking to me. If you feel dizzy or ill then you have to tell me straight away.”

Needing to believe that Seungkwan was in safe hands, Seungcheol steeled himself, shut out every last emotion he was capable of feeling, and returned his attention to Soonyoung.

Minghao was kneeling on Mingi’s other side, fingers curled around Soonyoung’s wrists in an attempt to convince him that it was time to stop, time to let go, but the recipient of his pleas didn’t look as if he was listening.

“… can’t stop … can’t stop … can’t stop …” he was repeating on a fragmented loop, his face and clothes drenched in what could either be tears or sweat as he continued to pound against Mingi’s broken chest. “… can’t stop … can’t stop … can’t stop …”

“Yes, stop,” Minghao was whispering, trying and failing to extricate Soonyoung’s hands. “Stop now. Enough.”

“No!” Soonyoung snapped back, practically hyperventilating from the exertion. “… can’t stop … can’t stop … can’t stop …”

It was a horrifically cruel contrast. Soonyoung’s heart was hammering against the inside of his ribcage, blood rushing in his ears, pulse throbbing in his wrist and his throat but Mingi had nothing.

No hammering of his heart, no rush of his blood, no throb of his pulse.

Nothing.

“He’s right,” Seungcheol murmured, shuffling closer and laying his hands on top of Minghao’s to help pry Soonyoung’s grip away. “Soonyoung, he’s right. It’s time to stop now.”

“No … I can’t … He’s just a child … He’s just a child … I can’t stop …”

“Soonyoung, he’s gone. He’s been gone for a long time. What you’re doing right now isn’t helping him; it’s just hurting you.”

It wasn’t working. Soonyoung was buried so deep in his guilt and his grief that his mind couldn’t even process the words he was hearing. His denial was slowly killing him just like it had killed Mingi.

Seungcheol switched tactics, truly unable to cope with watching this heartbreakingly hopeless mission anymore.

“Soonyoung, let me take over,” he pleaded and, finally, Soonyoung looked up. “You’re tired. Let me take over.”

“I … I shouldn’t …” He looked so confused, so desperate and so numb with terror. “I … I can’t leave him … I can’t stop …”

“You won’t be,” Seungcheol assured him. “You won’t be stopping, Soonyoung. You’ll just be letting me continue. Okay?”

He needed to take control in order to take it away again. He needed to shift Mingi’s life into his own hands, remove the burden and the responsibility from Soonyoung’s shoulders so that, when he stepped away, the blame would be his and his alone.

Just like how it should be.

“Okay, Soonyoung?”

“Okay.”

Soonyoung moved aside at last, scrubbing the tears from his face and panting breathlessly from the extensive exercise. Seungcheol nodded his gratitude and then took his place with the CPR, thankful that Minghao had the initiative to pull Soonyoung away.

Mingi’s head was lilting from side to side with every blow to his ribcage, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks to conceal the widened and frozen pupils beneath that signified the irreversible brain damage the boy – the  _ child  _ – had sustained in this battle he should never have been a part of.

And, suddenly, Seungcheol didn’t want to stop.

He didn’t want to let go, walk away and leave Mingi’s body to rot on this floor just like he’d left Jooheon in that tech room and Hyungwon in Junhui’s arms. He didn’t want to watch that kid fade away because his only family had given up on him.

But he had to.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered for what felt like the thousandth time that day as his movements started to slow. “I’m so sorry, Mingi. I’m so sorry.”

He gave the body’s motionless heart one last pound, forced it to beat one last time, and then he stopped. His head hung between his shoulders, his eyes closed, his hands resting lithely against Mingi’s chest.

“I’m so sorry.”

And he still wasn’t crying.


	22. Paper in the Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone  
> Unfortunately for the next week or so our update schedule is going to be a little fucked due to circumstances beyond our control. The fic is finished and will be posted to completion so don't worry about that just look out for the updates.

Seungcheol stared down at his freshly-filled bottle of Soju and sighed. It could be his fifth, maybe his sixth, but he still couldn’t feel its effects. Just as well … he deserved to experience the pain to its full extent.

He deserved the tight squeeze in his chest, the dull ache that hadn’t lapsed in weeks, the exhaustion in his bones that wouldn’t leave no matter how much he slept. He deserved every last second.

He hadn’t gone to the funeral. He’d had no right.

Hyunwoo had called in his crew to remove no less than thirty-three dead bodies from the base and scrub all the blood from the floors and walls but, as soon as the job was done, he left without granting Seungcheol so much as a glance.

Kihyun, Wonho, IM and Minhyuk gave small, sad, understanding smiles that looked more like the expressions of disappointed parents and, somehow, that was almost worse.

He hadn’t seen any of them since. Jihoon told him that they’d taken a trip to the ocean, just the five of them, so they could scatter Hyungwon and Jooheon’s ashes, and it had only secured the pit of emptiness in Seungcheol’s stomach.

Hyunwoo had been a friend, a brother, an equal and, yes, Seungcheol had definitely treated him and his team as expendable. He’d called them for everything, he’d depended on them for too much and they’d paid a price far higher than they should have ever had to pay.

For that, Seungcheol was never going to forgive himself.

As promised, the Mins sent underlings for him to keep in his employ and he put them to work since they were all he had now. He was down half his tactical team and had no backup from any of his allies. He was starting to doubt that he even had any more allies.

Minghao was forced to pick up the meetings from both the Chinese dealers as well as stand in for Seungcheol with the Koreans. Joshua worked closely alongside Seonghwa to keep the bar running while Seungkwan recovered and Hansol handled the new weapons deals.

Soonyoung refused to go back to the shelter or the bridge, unable to return without being tortured with the memories of Mingi, so he settled himself at the base and handled his trades from there. Seungcheol didn’t realise just how much pain he was in, however, until he put Monkey up for adoption.

It had taken weeks but the dust was finally beginning to settle and Seungcheol knew he needed to pick himself up and find Takashima so he could take revenge for his team, for his friends, but he just couldn’t.

He’d never felt weaker, never felt more lost and sick and upset with himself than he did right now. He hadn’t been there for his mother, Jooheon, Hyungwon or Mingi and, with the way things were going, it looked like he could still lose Seungkwan and Wonwoo.

He scooped up his bottle and swallowed every last drop in one gulp. Seonghwa brought him another without being asked but his gentle gaze still sharpened when he assessed the leader’s pathetic disposition with a wince of sympathy.

Seungcheol took another swig, willing the burn to come so that the numbness could set in and he could finally stop _feeling_ but it never did. He was doomed to suffer for the sins he’d committed.

\-----------------------

“You’re drunk.”

Seungcheol glanced around, movements slow and careful in an attempt to keep his balance as he squinted through the glare of the kitchen lights to see Junhui standing in the doorway, idly twirling his butterfly knife.

“I can assure you I’m not,” Seungcheol grunted miserably, turning back to the pot of water he was boiling on the stove. “Not for lack of trying though.”

He watched the liquid bubble and steam at the surface and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d even feel the pain of touching it. All of this was too much for one person. One boy. 

Because, for all the kids he’d supposedly adopted and for all the comfort he gave out and for all the messes he cleaned up, he wasn’t their father. He was just a kid himself, tossed into a world where problems were solved with guns and blood and he wanted out.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he didn’t belong here.

He was a natural with a gun, fighting came easily for him, tactics were his strength but now that he was staring his greatest failure straight in the face, he no longer wanted this.

He knew it was childish. He knew he was behaving like a kid who couldn’t get one part of a drawing right so they ripped the entire page out but he couldn’t carry on in a world where he needed to make decisions that changed lives. He didn’t want to be responsible for any more deaths.

If he were selfish …

If he didn’t have so many people depending on him now more than ever …

If he hadn’t promised Minghao help …

If he hadn’t promised Seokmin protection …

If he hadn’t promised Joshua a home …

If he hadn’t promised Junhui a rest …

If he hadn’t done any of that, he would end it. Right here, right now. He would take a gun and blow his brains out but even that was more than he deserved. He’d earned this pain and it was his duty to bear it.

“Just doesn’t seem like the coping strategy they’d have taught the Chois,” Junhui deflected as he slid past Seungcheol and turned off the gas on the stove.

That boy had been even more of a ghost since the attack. He’d been doing something – there was more money on the books to prove it – but no one had any idea what it was.

He’d cut his hair, too, cropping it short at the sides and letting it grow out a little at the top. They hadn’t been provided with an explanation for that either but Seungcheol knew. He understood. He was there.

_“You can … hold … my hand …And … you can … tell me … that …”_

_“I love you.”_

Seungcheol understood.

“Well, it is what kids are doing to pass the time these days,” he answered with a frown at how still the surface of the water had gotten.

Junhui cocked an incredulous eyebrow but expressed no further criticism, tugging him over to sit down at the island before pulling two mugs from the kitchen cupboard, “Did you want coffee?”

Seungcheol just shrugged, staring down at his hands. If he scrutinised them hard enough, he could still see the dark red of Hyungwon’s blood. He could feel the warm stickiness between his fingers, could see the boy’s face go lax as his last breath rattled out of him.

Jooheon’s blank and cloudy eyes. Mingi’s convulsing body. His mother’s smiling face as he left her for the last time.

He couldn’t do this.

“Cheol …”

“I … I can’t do this … I … They were kids …”

“And so are you,” Junhui shot back without looking up from the coffee pot. “Shua, Wonwoo and I aren’t that far from your age, Cheol. We’re all kids.”

Seungcheol was sure that, by now, he would have broken down in tears but he seemed to have lost that ability a long time ago. Now he was just breaking down in other ways.

His hands shook and his head pulsed, his gun felt heavy in his waistband as it dug into his back and his fingers itched to pull it out and press the barrel to his temple.

“Hyungwon wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“He was already there!” Junhui shouted without warning, whipping around and snapping Seungcheol’s thoughts back into focus with the ferocity of his sudden eruption. “They all were! They wouldn’t leave us without protection! You didn’t ask them to do shit!”

Seungcheol didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t used to this. Not from Junhui. His face was red and he seemed to be struggling to draw a full breath as his eyes spilled over and his fingers reached up to clench at his newly-shortened hair.

“Hyunwoo was just upset,” he ground out through gritted teeth, dropping his hands and clenching them at his sides. “He will be for a while but you know what? Life goes on. He’ll get over it. Life goes on!”

“And you?” Seungcheol whispered before he could stop himself.

This strange being crumbling to dust in front of him was hurting. For the first time ever, he was showing them something other than his cocky smirk and teasing smiles and, suddenly, Seungcheol was wondering when he’d started thinking of Junhui as a part of this team.

“Will you get over it?” 

“ _And … you can … tell me … that …”_

_“I love you.”_

Seungcheol was there.

He knew.

And he watched as Junhui’s face crumpled, his façade withering away like paper in the rain. Seungcheol had just enough time to lurch out of his chair and pull the kid close before his knees could hit the ground as the last of his strength left him.

Junhui buried his face in his leader’s neck and sobbed, openly, uncontrollably. His breaths hitched and his muscles spasmed as he finally let go of the pain he’d been cramming inside of him and all Seungcheol could do was hold him as he cried.

“He … fuck … He’s gone, Cheol,” came the strangled sobs, reverberating loudly in the empty kitchen. “They took him from me … He’s not coming back …”

Seungcheol held him tighter.

It had been weeks but the agony was still fresh. The wounds were still open and sore to touch and Seungcheol realised that the only way his team could truly start to heal was if they obliterated the bastards who’d done this to them.

The people that had butchered Minghao’s family and murdered Junhui’s first love. The people who’d made Soonyoung afraid to face the children, the elderly and the forgotten whom he’d promised to protect. The people who had compromised the safety of the place that so many kids called home. 

Seungcheol was well aware that he had to stop wallowing in his own self-despair and pull himself together. Even if he was just a kid, he was a leader and he had to fix this. For every single one of them.

\----------------

Seungcheol found himself standing in front of the med bay the following morning. He hadn’t been able to set foot in there, or in Jihoon’s tech office or in the training room, since the night of the attack.

If he was feeling a little more pitiful, he probably would have berated himself for being so pathetic. His father would have already had him caned.

His father …

He pushed that thought aside. He was still working under them but that didn’t mean he had to have any personal ties to the Chois if he didn’t want to. In fact, he’d seriously considered asking the Mins to officially enlist him under their reign.

He would have to give up his position as heir to the Chois but he couldn’t care less. He just needed to be away from them. It had crossed his mind to ask Min Suga to take him and his guys but he’d left that thought where it was.

It was probably best that he didn’t associate himself with him either.

Drawing in a harsh breath, he pushed open the door and stepped inside, pleasantly surprised to see that both Wonwoo and Seungkwan were awake and looking a lot better than when he’d last been in their company.

Wonwoo was sat up on the bed with a book balance on his crossed legs and a bowl of ice cream in his hand. He wasn’t wearing his shirt, revealing the bandages looped around his abdomen, but there was no wince of pain as he greeted Seungcheol with a smile on his face.

Seungkwan was still pale and laid flat on the bed with an oxygen mask secured around his face but he managed to give a half wave before his arm thudded back onto the mattress.

According to Seokmin, there had been complications with his circulation and now he felt light-headed if he sat up for too long. Seungcheol supposed they should have seen that coming since the boy had lost almost a third of his blood volume.

“How is everything?” he asked the room at large and Seokmin popped up from where he’d been trying to find something in one of the lower cupboards.

“Oh … hey,” he chirped, practically skipping over to give the very amused Seungcheol a tight hug.

“Hey.” 

Seokmin still got a little over eager sometimes, especially when he hadn’t seen one of them for a while, and Lord knew how long it had been since Seungcheol had last walked through those doors to check on them.

“Uh … good to have you back,” the pharmacist smiled, squeezing his shoulder a little awkwardly as Seungcheol grinned back at him.

“Anything to report?” he inquired, smirking slightly when Wonwoo raised his hand like a schoolboy asking for permission to speak. “Yes?”

“Can we buy something besides chocolate ice cream?”

“Chan chose the snacks,” Seokmin supplied innocently, triggering a sigh of exasperation from the boy in the bed with the chocolate ice cream.

“Well, can someone else choose the snacks because all we have is matcha mochi, chocolate ice cream and kimchi-flavoured chips.”

“It’s what the maknae wants.” 

“What about my wants? Does anyone ever stop for a moment and wonder, ‘what does Wonwoo want?’”

“No.”

“I’ll tell Shua to stop at the shop on his way back,” Seungcheol interrupted before the argument could escalate. “Anything else?”

“We need more pain killers,” Seokmin announced, suddenly avoiding eye contact and rubbing shyly at the back of his neck.

“For what? We just got an order of oxy.”

Seokmin looked down, mumbling something under his breath that was far too quiet to be audible and Seungcheol tried to keep the bite of irritation from his tone as he snapped a terse, “What was that?”

“It’s … most of it’s gone.”

“How is most of it gone? We didn’t put it on the market.”

“I … uh …” Seokmin stuttered, shifting from foot to foot and starting to look truly panicked with his fingers fidgeting and his gaze still respectfully downcast. “I don’t want anyone to be in trouble.”

“Seokmin!”

Seungcheol didn’t mean to shout but his patience was wearing thin. Seokmin was definitely hiding something and if drugs were going missing, Seungcheol needed to know what that was.

“Chan … Mast … Coups … Sir … Um …”

“Chan’s high,” Wonwoo finished, kindly putting Seokmin out of his misery.

Seungcheol cursed, “Fuck … How long?”

“I only caught him yesterday,” Seokmin whispered hoarsely, hands clasped in front of him and chin dropping to his chest. “I should have been here but I went to the kitchen to get something to eat. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left.”

Seungcheol had been neglecting his position, that much was clear, but the fact that he hadn’t seen this coming … The fact that he hadn’t so much as suspected it … There was one major issue with the operation he was running here.

It was what Soobin was to Wonbin.

It was what Suga was to Yeonjun.

It was what Kihyun was to Hyunwoo.

Seungcheol needed a second in command for times like this when he wasn’t at the top of his game, when he couldn’t study his kids closely enough to know when one of them was on a fucking high. What else had he missed while he’d been stewing in his own misery?

He had no idea who could possibly take on that kind of responsibility. He couldn’t depend on Wonwoo; that boy didn’t have a single aggressive bone in his body. Jihoon was better suited to the tech room, Soonyoung would eventually have to return to his own operation whether he decided to stay at the base or not.

Seungkwan and Minghao lacked tact, believing that killing was the only way to solve their problems. Hansol was about as responsible as a woodlouse and Seokmin was definitely nowhere near making the list.

That left Junhui or Joshua. He’d have to address it later. For now, he apparently had to go and find a drugged-up thirteen-year-old. 

“You aren’t in trouble, Seokmin,” he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “No one’s in trouble. Wonwoo, if you’re up for it, help Seokmin recount the stock. We’ll have to reorder and update the books.”

Wonwoo nodded solemnly and Seungcheol turned to leave, cringing at the soft sniffles Seokmin was desperately trying to stifle. He hoped that the kid would eventually be able to overcome that fear and realise that not every shout meant punishment.

Jihoon was the one who pointed him in the direction of the roof when he asked for Chan’s location. Apparently, the flat concrete surface standing several storeys high and overlooking the city was a favourite spot of his.

Seungcheol had to admit to himself that he hadn’t paid Chan nearly enough attention. He was barely thirteen and fighting a drug habit. He’d never had a lick of love from his family and now he’d been tossed into a life of crime.

Seungcheol had tried to talk to him about adoption not long after he’d arrived but Chan had hated the idea so, now, he was one of Cheol’s Kids, as Jooheon used to call them.

Jooheon.

He couldn’t think about that right now.

“Chan?” he called softly as he cautiously padded across the rooftop but the kid’s glassy eyes remained blank, gazing out over the forested area behind the fence surrounding their base. “Chan?”

He sat down next to him, legs dangling tantalisingly over the edge of the building. Somebody had given the boy his haircut and he didn’t look quite as skinny as he had been but he was still far too small. Not quite as small as Minghao but close.

“You know,” Chan stated.

His voice was weak, so childlike despite the horrors he’d witnessed over the course of his devastatingly short life.

“Yeah, I know,” Seungcheol nodded. “Can you tell me why?” 

“It hurts,” came the deft reply, a single tear tracing its way down a hollow cheek. “Seokmin said the pills make the pain go away and they did and now it hurts when I don’t take them.”

“But you knew it was wrong. If you have to hide it, you know it’s wrong.”

He was careful not to sound angry. They were already so close to the edge of the roof that casting accusations and assigning blame could potentially procure a lethal result. But Chan looked too out of it to even process whatever emotions his new companion was feeling.

“I didn’t want you to be mad,” he whispered. “I know you have bigger problems than me.”

“You aren’t a problem. I chose to keep you with me. I just want to see you get better.”

“And I fucked up, huh?” Chan countered with a dramatic slump of his shoulders, not even bothering to brush the fresh tears from his face.

“Who taught you that word?”

“I’m thirteen, not three. I know bad words.”

“Was it Minghao?”

There was a pause.

“No?”

“It was Minghao, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Seungcheol chuckled. In spite of everything, he chuckled. Of course it had been Minghao. Why was it that foreigners always learned the curse words first? The kid couldn’t remember how to count to fifty but he could spew every obscenity in the books. 

“Okay, firstly, don’t take grammar lessons from Minghao. Secondly, you aren’t a problem, a burden or a fuck up –”

“How come you get to use it?” Chan whined with a pout.

“Pay attention,” Seungcheol shot back even as he curled an arm around the kid’s shoulders and pulled him closer. “If you need anything, you ask me. You have a bad day, you come talk to me. We are getting you off these things.”

He knew it would be a lot more difficult than that. Drugs, particularly opioids, were notoriously addictive with horrific withdrawal symptoms and a knack for instilling the most intensive urges that could last for months.

“What if it hurts again?”

But this was a child and he deserved a life.

“Where does it hurt, Channie?” 

Seungcheol felt his heart crack when the kid pointed to his chest with a soft, “here”.

He was thirteen. He’d never had a family or a social life. He didn’t even know how to deal with his own pain and that was why Seungcheol promised himself that he would do anything to make sure Chan’s little heart never hurt again.

“Alright. Let’s get off the roof and I’ll have someone get you some Mirtazapine.” And Anti-depressants. Non-addictive ones. “We’ll get you better, okay?”

“Yeah … okay,” Chan murmured and Seungcheol smiled at him, ruffling his hair and pulling him to his feet.

He breathed a sigh of relief when they were finally back on solid ground. He had no problem with heights but the sheer altitude of the rooftop combined with Chan’s mental state had been starting to seriously worry him.

“Uh … Mr Coups … do I call you ‘Cheol’ like everyone else?”

“You can call me whatever you want,” Seungcheol answered as he ushered the boy inside.

“Can I call you a horse fart like Minghao does?”

Seungcheol wondered if, when he decided to wring Minghao’s neck, he would be able to catch him.

\------------------

His bedroom door creaked, alerting him to the new arrival before he looked up to see Joshua’s head poking through.

“Uh, hey … you busy?”

“Do I look busy?” Seungcheol countered from where he was lying flat on his face in bed.

“Right.”

The door closed and the bed dipped as Joshua hopped onto it, shoving Seungcheol aside to make room for himself and then nudging the unresponsive leader in the thigh.

“Here,” he said, holding out a gun.

“Shua, you shouldn’t have,” Seungcheol mumbled dryly, shoving his face back into the pillow. “I already have a bunch of those.”

“Shut up. I’m trying to help.”

“Then pull the trigger,” came the muffled reply.

“That’s not funny, Cheol. Get up.”

There was the soft thud of the gun hitting the bed before Joshua was wrestling the much bulkier frame into a sitting position, even going as far as to arrange his legs so that he had no choice but to cross them so that they were mirroring each other.

“I only allow this because it’s you,” Seungcheol grumbled, raking his fingers through his bird’s nest of hair. 

“Aww, love you, too, Cheol. Now here.”

He held the gun out again and Seungcheol took it, resigning himself to the therapeutic routine of releasing the magazine, clearing the round and then reloading it. The familiar sound of clicking and sensation of oil and steel beneath his fingers really did make him feel better. 

“There,” Joshua smirked in satisfaction. “Now you look less like you’re going to blow your brains out. What’s been going on with you these past few weeks?”

Seungcheol sighed. How could he even begin to explain just how shitty he’d been feeling? People had died because of him, because he hadn’t been there, and others had been suffering in silence while he sat here feeling sorry for himself.

“Come on,” Joshua nudged stubbornly. “Seonghwa told me how many bottles you had yesterday and Junhui said he found you drunk in the kitchen.”

“Do these people work for me or for you?”

“They’re just worried. You aren’t yourself.”

Seungcheol pulled the slide to clear the round, catching the ejected bullet in his palm as it flew out, and slotting it back into the mag.

“My mother’s dead,” he admitted in a low voice.

“Were you close?” Joshua asked after a moment of silence and Seungcheol sent him a grateful smile.

He didn’t know why this was better than being cooed over and coddled like a fragile little snowflake but it just was. Somehow, Joshua always knew exactly what he did and didn’t need to hear.

Seungcheol was aware he hadn’t had the easiest time of it lately either.

Hyunsik’s death had triggered something inside of him, something scary and ruthless and bloodthirsty but also something strong. Joshua was different now but, unlike everything else in their lives right now, it was a good kind of different.

“She, Leeteuk and my uncle were the only good things in my life,” Seungcheol mumbled. “But she’s gone, Leeteuk’s probably gone, too, and I think my uncle had something to do with Takashima attacking us. I wanted to get her out of there once I had everything under control here but … I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Yeah,” Joshua nodded understandingly. “That sucks.”

“And then, the same night I find out about her, the base gets attacked and … Mingi … Jooehon, Hyungwon … and Hyunwoo won’t speak to me.”

He was whining like a little child but these were all things he needed to get out of his system and Joshua always listened. Ever since they’d met each other, he’d always listened.

“Hyunwoo’s angry but you two are like brothers,” the boy assured him. “He won’t stay gone. Give him time. As for your uncle, I’m not sure how it works in Daegu and you probably can’t kill him without some pretty major repercussions, but we can get Takashima. He’s not even on home ground. This is Seoul. It’s every man for himself.”

Seungcheol couldn’t help himself, “You spend too much time with Jun.” 

“Yeah, of late …” Joshua snorted in response. “I heard about Chan, too.”

Yet another one of his failures.

“Everything’s falling apart around us, Shua,” Seungcheol groaned, lying back down against his pillows and staring at the ceiling.

“Nah. It only seems that way. We’ve got this.”

“When the fuck did you get so optimistic?”

For a few seconds, there was no response and Seungcheol cracked an eye open to see that Joshua’s playful grin had faded to a small smile. His face seemed to speak a hundred different emotions but Seungcheol didn’t understand any of them until he answered.

“It’s called hope, Cheol. I discovered it the day I met you because that’s what you are to all of us: hope. And we’ve got to get that back so pull yourself out of this slump, yeah? We need you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please keep our Dear Anonymous Introvert In your Cosmic conversations and prayers 💜


	23. Nourish their Bellies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is part one of a little gift to the readers who stuck with us for so long.  
> People have been asking about one of Cheol's kids in particular so here you go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again we apologise for the weird update schedule. Hopefully, it will be back to normal by next week

Junhui sat with his back against the wall, knees bent leisurely in front of him and his gun swinging lazily from his finger. The building was in surprisingly good condition for being the last known location of a foreign criminal.

The ceiling was high, almost an A frame, with wooden beams positioned in neat rows. The walls were a pretty shade of powder blue, the floors were made of dark-stained mahogany wood and the light fixtures … fuck, he was losing his mind.

No. More than that. He was practically comatose with boredom, monologuing about architecture when he should be shoving knives through windpipes.

They had been here for ten minutes, waiting for Joshua to figure out the best course of action. Junhui already had three plans, five exit strategies and a crick in his neck from how long they’d been in the same position.

He let out a deliberately heavy sigh and didn’t miss the irritated glare Joshua shot over at him before the older boy returned his attention to the small screen on the device Jihoon had given him.

The mission was simple. Junhui would have preferred it not to have been stealth and recon but he understood why Seungcheol wanted it that way.

It had been a month and four days since the attack but Wonwoo and Seungkwan had only just gotten back on their feet and none of them were taking any more chances with the rest of the team.

But that meant more of these missions spent cooped up with Mr. No-Fun himself: Hong Joshua or, as Junhui liked to call him, Seungcheol’s emotional support puppy.

The two of them were grossly dependant on each other and that really wasn’t healthy. Not that Junhui could just them. He wasn’t exactly the poster child for mental health. Far from it. About as far from it as it was possible to be without coming back round the other side.

His parents had known something was wrong with him. And he’d known that they’d known. He learned very early on that he wasn’t quite the same as the other kids. He didn’t think like them, he didn’t speak like them and he didn’t act like them either.

His teachers complained, other parents complained, neighbours complained but, instead of addressing it, his parents relished in it. They even groomed it. From the age of five to the age of seventeen, Junhui had been raised as a weapon.

He never told anyone where he came from, who his mother and father were, what they’d done to punish his failures or what they’d made him do for them during those first few years of his life.

As far as anyone knew, he was a troubled kid who annoyed the teachers at school and pissed on his neighbours’ rose beds. 

He’d told so many lies that he wasn’t sure he even knew what the truth was anymore. He’d killed so many people that he’d lost count of the number of souls on his shoulders. He’d bounced around so many places that he barely remembered which time zone he was in.

There was no honesty in what he’d told Seungcheol on that first night they met. He’d never worked with Takashima. He hadn’t told the truth then and he probably never would but there was always a sliver of reality in every one of his lies. 

Just after he’d turned seventeen, he was let out on an errand after days of being locked in the basement. The punishment was always the same: his father cut into him a little deeper each time and never stuck around to make sure he healed properly.

He’d battled the fevers and the infections on his own, biting down on the material of his shirt to stop himself from screaming in agony when he treated the wound by himself, until they came back to let him out.

And then, one day, when his latest errand sent him on a trip to China, he decided he’d had enough.

He did help Minghao escape Takashima but it was more for the fun of fucking with a man who’d been allied with his parents than it was for helping the kid. He’d meant to leave it at that but something had made him follow that boy. Something had told him it was his one and only chance to disappear, and so he did.

He trailed Minghao straight to Seungcheol and that’s where he’d stayed.

His parents would be looking for him, he knew that. He was their greatest asset and the only person who knew every last thing about their secret little organisation. They were never going to stop the search but he changed his name and laid low in Korea and he knew that he’d have to run again one day but, for now, this was his home.

He never would have thought that he’d come to care for Seungcheol and his team. Even for Joshua, as annoying as he found him. He never would have thought he’d meet someone like Hyungwon. 

Nobody could have ever anticipated what he had with Hyungwon. It was quick and it came out of nowhere but it was pure and it was real and, just like every other beautiful thing in life, it winked out of existence.

The sunset ended, the shooting star landed, the flowers wilted and Hyungwon was gone. 

Junhui didn’t want to think about it.

“I got my ticket for the long way round …”

“Jun …”

“Two bottles of whiskey for the way …”

“Jun, this is –”

“And I sure would like some sweet company …”

“Jun, this is a fucking stealth mission. Do you think you can – I don’t know – not sing right now?” Joshua hissed over at him.

There was a crackle from the comms and then Jihoon was grunting in their ears, “Fuck you Shua. I was enjoying that.”

Junhui snorted. Joshua had gotten bossy since Seungcheol assigned him as second for a trial period. It wasn’t that Junhui wanted the position for himself – fuck, no – he just didn’t see Joshua being particularly able to fill it either.

That boy was almost as strong as Seungcheol now that Junhui had spent the last few weeks beating the ever-loving shit out of him, but he was inexperienced and it made missions like this nothing more than tedious.

“Easy for you to say,” Joshua scoffed back. “You’re in a tech room fifty miles from here.”

“Yeah, helping your ass with a mission.”

“A _stealth_ mission that Jun has no business singing during.”

“Fuck off, Shua.”

“Why is it that, whenever I’m right, you tell me to fuck off?”

“You’re a killjoy,” Jihoon muttered before pausing. “Hostiles on your ten.”

Junhui swivelled to the right and peered down the hallway where two men were indeed standing in front of a room, conversing in whispered undertones.

“Finally,” he grinned, cocking his gun noisily. “Some fucking action.”

“No, put that away,” Joshua snapped, snatching the weapon and flicking the safety back on. “No action. This is recon. Let’s just go. Takashima isn’t here.”

Junhui rolled his eyes and suppressed the urge to laugh with incredulity, “Okay … as the seasoned stealth guy here, I’ll give you a tip: gas is expensive.”

Joshua did nothing more than stare at him blankly, “So?”

“So … We came all the way here. We might as well poke around.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Coups said –”

“Well, Coups isn’t here, is he?” Junhui bit back, tugging a second gun from his waistband and cocking it just as loudly, this time out of spite more than excitement.

He smirked at the sound of Jihoon’s chuckle in his ear, “Go get ‘em, Junnie.”

“No, we aren’t getting anything.”

“Joshua, I’ll tie you to a bannister, I swear to God, now get the fuck up and follow me,” Junhui whispered harshly, rising to his feet but still keeping low as he crept forwards.

He shot a brief glance over his shoulder to see if Joshua was following and he was. So much for his leadership skills. 

There wasn’t any cover in the hall, no place for them to hide or shield themselves from bullets, so this had to be quick and accurate.

“On my count,” Junhui breathed, holding up three fingers and taking them down one at a time before ducking out from behind the wall and shooting both men squarely through the skull.

“Fuck … What if we need them?”

Joshua scampered past him, stooping to check on the two bodies. They were definitely dead but Junhui put a couple more bullets in each of their chests before moving on.

“What is it with you?” came Joshua’s bewildered splutter from behind him, still trying to stay close as Junhui stalked down the hallway. “Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“We really don’t have enough time in the day for me to tell you, Joshi.”

“My name is Joshua,” Joshua barked. “And if you have this under control, why am I here?”

“Well, for starters, you’re the one being tested for the role of second, not me. And need I remind you that the last time I went somewhere on my own, I got turned into a fucking suicide bomber?”

“Hostiles on your nine,” Jihoon announced softly, prompting an irritated hiss from Joshua.

“Why can’t we just say left or right?”

“Shut up, Shua.”

“You’re never nice to me.” 

“You gonna cry about it or help me get the hostiles?” Junhui cut in but he didn’t wait for an answer, kicking the door in front of him wide open and storming across the threshold with his gun held at the ready.

But then he stopped, so abruptly that Joshua almost ran into him, and felt his eyes widening with surprise.

“Woozi … These aren’t hostiles.”

He didn’t even know what he was looking at.

The room was almost pitch black, illuminated only by the lamp positioned in the corner of the ceiling that cast an eerily feeble glow over the faces that were lined up in front of him. Boys, of varying ages, hanging from the chains that bound their wrists to the rafters above them.

Some had IV lines sticking out of various places on their bodies, some were missing entire limbs, most of them were unconscious and all of them were bleeding. Head wounds, bullet holes, lacerations, actual knives protruding from heaving abdomens. 

“What the fuck is this?” Joshua whispered but Junhui didn’t bother to answer him as he slowly walked towards the nearest victim.

He was missing several fingernails, there were tendrils of barbed wire wrapped around his head, puncturing his eyes and tearing the corners of his mouth as blood dripped, slightly aesthetically, from mutilated lips.

Junhui patrolled down the line, brow furrowed in bewilderment. There was missing skin, missing teeth, missing eyeballs, twenty men and several different forms of torture, not all of which he’d seen before. They were all still breathing and, somehow, that was worse.

“Get your gun,” he threw over his shoulder at Joshua.

“What … Why?” 

“We can’t leave them like this. Put them out of their misery.”

He didn’t need to look up from the clip he was reloading to see the expression of stunned disbelief on Joshua’s face as he choked out an incredulous, “Are you crazy? You’re going to kill them?”

“Well, I’m not going to fuck them. Get your gun.”

Junhui couldn’t remember how many times he’d prayed for his own mercy killing. His parents hadn’t liked to leave marks since they believed scars made a person stand out too much. They preferred conditioning and, when it came down to it, there was only one place they ever cut him.

The scar that ran from his upper chest to his hip was a lesson, a reminder and a promise.

He screwed the silencer onto his gun and began at the end of the morbid line, noticing that Joshua was mirroring him from the other side, albeit slowly and a little shakily. Maybe he’d begged for death at some point, too. Maybe he understood that, sometimes, death was more merciful.

Junhui worked quickly until he got to the eleventh man and he couldn’t help the smirk that stretched his lips even as he listened to the soft popping of Joshua blowing holes through brains on the other side of the room.

This one wasn’t broken.

And then Junhui realised what this was.

Takashima used it often to train his underlings. His fighters were only half of why he was so notorious. The training his personal guards went through was probably rivalled only by German POW camps.

Anyone who worked for him had to undergo this treatment and, if they survived, they were added to his inner circle. Just looking at these people, Junhui was willing to bet that all of them had failed.

All except this one.

This one wasn’t broken.

He was tall, maybe around Seokmin’s age with skin that was tanned where it wasn’t covered in blood, eyes that were sharp, a face that was a pure mask of anger. He wasn’t afraid of them.

A thick scarlet-stained cloth was secured around his mouth but he didn’t pant or hiss. He simply hung there, assessing Junhui through the sodden overgrown strands of his fringe.

“If I let you out, will you attack me?” Junhui asked him.

For a moment, the stranger stared at him but then he shook his head and Junhui smirked. He knew a lie when he saw one but he pulled out his knife to work at the locks anyway.

“What are you doing?” Joshua called over as he finished off the last of the captives.

“This one’s coming with us.”

“Um … No, that’s not what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“I’ll bet we weren’t supposed to be carrying out a mass murder either,” Junhui quipped as the tip of his blade succeeded in picking at the shackles. “Do you wanna be the one to explain that to Coups?” 

The chains gave and the boy instantly buckled, weakened legs folding beneath him and bringing him to his knees with a heavy thump. He stayed upright, though. He didn’t keel over or pass out like Junhui had been expecting him to. He just tugged the gag out of his mouth and glared up at them.

He was bleeding from his head, chest and back. One of his arms was clearly broken and the skin on his calves looked like a bad patchy quilt.

“Who are you?” Joshua asked at once, pressing the barrel of his gun against the boy’s temple before Junhui could stop him.

Within three seconds, Joshua was disarmed and had his face pressed into the wall, one of his arms twisted behind his back. The stranger was using his unbroken limb to hold it there while the other held the gun loosely but steadily.

“God damn it, Shua,” Junhui murmured under his breath, bringing the butt of his gun down on the base of the boy’s skull.

He stumbled, lost his balance and fell, the gun skidding out of his hand as he came to rest in a crumpled heap on the floor. He was clearly dazed but he was still conscious and, for that, Junhui was impressed.

Seungcheol was definitely going to want this one.

“Do I need to list ground rules here?” Junhui sighed as Joshua picked up his gun from the floor and glared over at him.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he snapped irritably. “I didn’t know how to use a gun until a few months ago.”

Junhui resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He liked Joshua – he really did – and he knew the kid had been through absolute hell but, sometimes, he wondered what made Seungcheol risk so much to keep him around.

“Get the chains, cuff his hands and let’s get out of here.”

Joshua looked like he wanted to offer up another rebuttal but must have given up at the last second because he retrieved the shackles from where they were still hanging without further complaint.

“Woozi, tell Coups we have incoming,” Junhui stated softly as he watched the boy struggling against Joshua’s attempts to secure his hands behind his back.

At the sound of Seungcheol’s name, however, his eyes suddenly went very wide and his resistance stopped immediately. Junhui always found it funny to see reactions like that. Seungcheol had such a large following. Most people didn’t even know he was still just a kid and, luckily for Junhui, they also didn’t know who worked for him.

Joshua heaved the boy to his feet and pushed him ahead of them as they made their way back through the corridors and out towards the sleek black car they’d parked in the undergrowth. 

“I’m sorry,” Joshua whispered without looking up.

“For what?”

Junhui already knew he was in for an earful of self-loathing just by the look on Joshua’s face and the soft sigh he released in response. One of the many things he’d had to learn was reading people. Body language, facial expressions, the weight of a single word, the slightest shift of an eye or a finger or a change in the tone of their voice.

He’d heard people asking each other if he could read minds but, really, he was just perceptive. Even his parents had found it unsettling and often locked him in the basement whenever they were discussing something serious.

“I’m sorry for whatever you think of me.”

Joshua stopped walking as he said it and Junhui stopped to stare at him. Honestly, that wasn’t what he’d been expecting from the apology.

“I’m sorry I’m not from wherever you and Coups are from where you can just … I don’t know … always know what to do,” his partner muttered. “But I’m working on it. I’m trying my best and I’ll listen … if you help me.” 

Joshua was asking for help. He wanted to live up to whatever Seungcheol saw in him and he was asking Junhui to help him do it. If that wasn’t worth a bit of respect then Junhui didn’t know what was.

So he grinned at him, “First thing I’m going to show you when we get back is how to properly hold a gun to someone’s head without getting disarmed.”

The boy ahead of them gave an amused huff.

Forget Seungcheol, Minghao was definitely going to enjoy this one’s humour.

“Yeah. Ha, ha, Jun, very funny.”

“I thought that was fucking hilarious,” Jihoon piped up in their ears.

“Why do you never take my side? What did I ever do to you?”

“Shut up, Shua.” 

\----------------------

Seungcheol didn’t know why he thought it was a good idea to send Joshua on his first mission as lead with _Junhui_ as his backup, but he had and now he had a new kid to show for it.

Technically, this one should be Junhui’s the same way that Hansol was really Joshua’s but, of course, Seungcheol got stuck with him as Junhui went off to murder nuns or whatever he was doing these days to put so much money on the books. Besides, Seungcheol wouldn’t subject someone to Junhui as their buffer.

The kid was in pretty good condition for someone who’d been through what Joshua had described. Most of his wounds were halfway healed already and, now that he was clean, he didn’t look like he was on the verge of death.

“Kim Mingyu, sixteen, went missing when he was seven. First sold as a sex slave then worked as a fighter for Kwan, then Takashima bought him and now he’s here,” Jihoon rattled off from his laptop.

Mingyu glared at him from the bed where he was lying on his stomach, arms folded in front of him as Seokmin tried to clean the wounds on his back. He didn’t even flinch or wince even when the pharmacist cringed and whispered hurried apologies every time he dabbed the cotton ball against the lashings.

Seungcheol had seen this type of training before. The Japanese were usually the only ones who used it but he’d seen it. He could probably shoot this boy in the leg and not hear a peep out of him for how well trained he seemed.

Joshua stood next to Minghao on the other side of the room, looking on as Seungcheol paced in front of the bed.

“Where’s Takashima?”

The boy kept his mouth clamped shut, continuing to glare from over the top of his heavily muscled arms.

“Maybe he not speak Korean,” Minghao suggested, walking over until he was in front of Mingyu and crouching down so that they were at eye level. “He not look Japanese.”

“No, he’s Korean,” Jihoon insisted.

“Then maybe he just dumb.”

The boy’s lips quirked in response to that and Seungcheol rolled his eyes. Apparently another pairing he was going to have to keep an eye on had just presented itself and that was the very last thing he needed right now.

“How about this?” he started, manoeuvring Minghao out of the way as he stared down at Mingyu’s challenging expression. “We’ll keep you safe, we make you a part of this team, you get a job, a home, no more pain or torture. All you have to do is help us find this guy.”

Mingyu cocked an eyebrow at him, “What do you want with Takashima?”

“It speaks!” Joshua cried dramatically, throwing his hands up in the air in a gesture of exaggerated shock.

“I won’t help if you’re going to ally yourself with that monster,” Mingyu continued as though he hadn’t just been interrupted.

“We not ally,” Minghao growled back. “We kill him and we chop his body then we feed him to wild dogs to nourish their bellies.”

Seungcheol blanched, whipping around to stare at the little Chinese kid, “Okay, no. We’re going to kill Takashima, yes, but we probably won’t be feeding him to any dogs.”

“Jun say we feed him to dogs,” Minghao frowned, mouth falling open and head cocking to the side in a gesture of confused disappointment. “Why we not feed him to dogs?”

This was getting ridiculous. Could he not leave any of these kids alone with Junhui? Honestly, he needed to figure out a rota or something so that Junhui, Minghao and Chan didn’t overlap. While he was at it, he may have to arrange some sort of couples’ therapy for Joshua and Jihoon. 

“I don’t know where Takashima is,” Mingyu cut in, driving a wedge between Seungcheol and his thoughts. “But I know what he wants.”

“What does he want?”

“ _Who_ does he want?” Mingyu corrected as his eyes shifted to look at Minghao.

Of course. Of fucking course.

“Takashima hasn’t ever had something taken away from him. If he gets him, he’ll probably just kill him. The point is that someone snatched the little ninja right out of his grasp and he wants him back.”

Minghao narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to process the words Mingyu was saying, and Seungcheol saw the moment it clicked in his head and his entire body balked with surprise.

“Does the name Wonbin ring any bells?” Mingyu asked disinterestedly, sitting up and tugging on the shirt that Seokmin offered him.

“My uncle,” Seungcheol grunted and the boy nodded slowly. 

“He bought into Takashima’s operation a few years back, owed him a favour, too. It turns out he used that favour a month ago to get you back to Daegu so he could send some people in here to get him,” he relayed, jerking his head towards Minghao.

Minghao who looked like he was barely keeping it together despite getting the message a few seconds later than everyone else. 

“He didn’t cater for your allegiance with Shownu’s gang, though. He didn’t know they’d be here. I was supposed to be part of that raid but I fucked up an order and got left behind for further conditioning.”

It was a lot to process. Not only was Wonbin in on one of the most grotesque and brutal organisations on the planet but he’d also played a crucial role in the attack that had cost Jooheon, Hyungwon and Mingi their lives.

He’d betrayed his own nephew. And he hadn’t batted an eyelid.

“What’s next?” Seungcheol ground out, trying to keep his expression neutral even if he was boiling on the inside. “Will he come back for The8?”

“Oh, for sure,” Mingyu interjected. “He’ll come back. He won’t give up until he’s his or he’s dead.”

Well, fuck.

It was going to be a shit tonne harder to keep all those promises now that somebody was actively after one of his kids, particularly somebody so goddamn dangerous. He could hide Minghao but the chances of that boy staying still were close to zero.

They only had one option: find Takashima before he found them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this answers all your questions
> 
> Stay safe everyone


	24. I'll Call You Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, everyone. updates should return to normal after this. sorry about that.

“Cocksucker! Fucking motherfucker!”

Seungcheol groaned and dug the heel of his hand into the centre of his forehead. He didn’t have time for this. He was far too tired for this. He didn’t want to deal with this but there was literally no one else who could or would deal with Jihoon screaming curse words at the top of his lungs at two in the morning.

He tossed his iPad onto the bed beside him and raked his hair out of his face in a feeble attempt to get rid of the tension and lingering fatigue.

They’d been searching for days and every time they got within reach of Takashima’s coattail, he disappeared again. Jihoon couldn’t pin him, Junhui couldn’t find him and Minghao couldn’t track him. He was like the wind blowing past their faces, vanishing into nothingness whenever they thought they’d caught a glimpse.

When Seungcheol reached the corridor outside the tech lab, he found Mingyu and Minghao sitting side by side with their backs to the wall, munching on some kind of meat skewer and grinning at the closed door.

“Are you two responsible for this?”

He couldn’t keep the irritation from his tone as he addressed them but Mingyu simply shook his head, taking an exaggerated bite of his beefy popsicle as Minghao giggled. Fucking _giggled._

Mingyu had been trained well. He knew how to toss his weight around in the training room and had already bested Wonwoo, Soonyoung and Joshua more than a few times. He was a great house guest, too, always in the kitchen, always cleaning up and he generally kept to himself.

But, for every pro, there was a con. As capable as he was, he was also a clumsy oaf. He constantly tripped over his own limbs, knocking things and people over and, for some reason, although they chose to spend all their time together, he and Minghao were always fighting. Seungcheol had already had to clean up a fair amount of blood and broken furniture.

“Then what the fuck is going on?” he snapped impatiently.

“Don’t know …” Minghao shrugged, still grinning like an idiot. “Just come back.”

The two of them were still wearing their full gear: masks pulled under their chins, jackets and boots in place, and Minghao’s omnipresent sword strapped to his back alongside the small pouch that housed the infamous blow dart.

Seungcheol sighed. He was going to need to call a family meeting and demand that they all be able to have proper conversations in this place. And after that, he was going to pray that those conversations would stop feeling like he was pulling teeth and then he was probably going to go slam his head into a wall or something just to top it all off. 

Gritting his teeth, he pushed open the door to Jihoon’s tech room to find the boy muttering profanities under his breath as he dragged a few cords over his shoulder from one wall to the other. He inserted a few of them into the plugs at the back of the tower, gave the structure a particularly violent smack and then pushed the power button.

All the monitors suddenly came to life and then instantly blinked off once more, eliciting another series of bellowed curses, “Fucking motherfuckers and their fucking motherfucking viruses! Fuck!”

Seungcheol heard several pairs of footsteps approaching from the down the corridor before Joshua stepped over the threshold, hand hovering nervously over the gun in his belt.

“What’s going on?”

“I have no idea,” Seungcheol sighed in defeat. “He won’t stop cursing long enough to tell me.”

They watched Jihoon duck under his table for a few minutes and then pop back up to push the power button again only to get the exact same results.

“Jihoon, what the fuck is going on?” Joshua finally demanded.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jihoon echoed, shoulders heaving with the effort of containing so much fury in his tiny little body. “I’ll tell you what the fuck … Someone has my remote access code and they’re fucking up my server!”

Joshua shot Seungcheol a confused glance, “Your what?”

Jihoon stopped and looked up at him as if he was either sprouting a second head or was just very, very stupid. Knowing Jihoon, it was probably the latter.

“I don’t have time for this … All our cams and comms run on this fucking server,” he cursed, grabbing a notebook from the desk and tossing it carelessly into Joshua’s chest. “That’s all you need to know about remote access codes because I can’t be bothered to deal with your dumbass questions.” 

Joshua looked a little affronted but started flicking through the pages anyway, sinking into a nearby chair to engross himself in the message behind the messy scribbles.

“Why do we only have one server if everything runs on it?” Seungcheol questioned cautiously, wary of having his head bitten off just like Joshua.

“We only ever had the one,” Jihoon shot over his shoulder. “You never got more and I was basically freeloading on IM’s for the heavier stuff. We’re definitely going to need more after this.”

“As requested,” came a cool chirp from the doorway just before Junhui pushed his way past Seungcheol and dropped a prehistoric-looking laptop on Jihoon’s desk.

“I didn’t request this.”

“But you need it,” Junhui countered matter-of-factly.

Jihoon rolled his eyes in exasperation but obediently opened up the bulky device and entered a few series of code before once more trying his power button. This time, the screens stayed on.

“You’re welcome.”

Junhui flopped lazily into one of the many wheeled chairs dotted around and made himself comfortable as Jihoon’s fast fingers made various taps and clicks against the mouse and keyboard.

Seungcheol found himself wondering if two in the morning was an unreasonable time for a family meeting.

“Shit,” Jihoon hissed.

“What is it?”

A small white box had opened up in the corner of the screen with a line of numeric location coordinates between its pixelated borders and a single word – _help_ – followed by the familiar zeroes of IM’s code.

“What the fuck is this?” Seungcheol breathed as Junhui padded over to read the message.

“Says ‘help’ …”

“Yes, I can fucking read. I mean, why is IM asking you for help?”

“Well, he’s probably not asking me,” Jihoon grumbled, clicking around his screen to close all the other boxes and tabs taking up space. “He’s most likely hoping this gets to you.”

“And why not Hyunwoo?”

“I bet he did something stupid,” Junhui shrugged. “They usually have to hide from Kihyun if they get themselves into any kind of dumb shit... Hyungwon told me.”

He said his name so carefully and it was a reminder of just why this simple plea was so off-putting. Seungcheol and Hyunwoo still weren’t on speaking terms and, by extension, neither were their teams. IM shouldn’t be asking for his help.

“Alright, Shua, Jun, with me. Let’s go find him,” Seungcheol commanded grimly. “Jihoon, send me those coordinates and don’t call Shownu until I say.”

Jihoon gave a hum of affirmation as the rest of them stalked out of the room and headed straight for the armoury. Once their guns were in their waistbands, their ammo boxes were in their pockets and their knives were in their sheaths, they set off.

It took them half an hour and four songs from Junhui to reach the coordinates’ location.

The building in question was a warehouse, abandoned by the looks of it. There were no street lights and the faint glow from the distant houses did nothing to break up the gloom of the early morning moonlight. 

Seungcheol signalled for the other two to follow him as he silently crossed the street, firearm in hand and senses on alert. They circled surreptitiously until finding a window that was big enough for the three of them to sneak through.

The wooden floors creaked beneath Seungcheol’s weight and he had to suppress a wince. He’d always been a little too bulky for stealth missions, just a margin heavier than the rest of his peers and, since he’d worked with the Mins, a bit taller, too.

He glanced over his shoulder to see that Joshua, despite being several pounds lighter, was having the same issue. The building was old and badly kept. Creaking floorboards were going to be unavoidable.

There were so many possible reasons for why IM would be in a place like this and none of them were particularly good. If anything had happened to that kid, Seungcheol wasn’t sure he was going to be able to stop Hyunwoo from skinning him alive.

From somewhere deep within the confines of the warehouse, there was a thud, a clatter, a muffled scream, a suppressed shot and more shuffling that echoed off the stone walls, and Seungcheol felt his heart crawling up into his throat.

But then a beam of light cut through the darkness to illuminate the floor at their feet and only then did he realise that he’d never heard Junhui enter through the window behind them. Now here he was, framed in the doorway with a flashlight in his hand and IM’s arm around his shoulders.

“Why do we even bother coming to these things?” Joshua muttered, rolling his eyes even as he hurried forwards to support IM’s weight from his other side. 

It was an awkward manoeuvre but, with their combined effort, they got IM back outside and into the backseat of the car where he slumped against the leather with his eyes closed and his face slick with sweat.

“What’s going on, Changkyun?” Seungcheol hissed as he slammed the door behind him and turned around in his seat. “Why call us and not Hyunwoo?”

“I fucked up,” came the dry response.

“You’ve been drinking,” Joshua stated from his place beside the boy and at least IM had the grace to look a little sheepish.

His eye was bruised, there was a small slit at the peak of his cheekbone and a stream of blood dribbling from his nose but, otherwise, he looked unharmed. Just a little shaken up and more than a little exhausted. 

“What did you do?”

“Can we, like … get out of here first?” Changkyun pleaded, a sliver of desperation sliding into his tone. “I don’t know if the rest of them will come back.”

He glanced out of the window, fingers fidgeting skittishly in his lap and Seungcheol watched Joshua pulling him into a one-armed hug with a sigh of fatigue and exasperation before he slotted the key in the ignition and shifted the car into gear.

Junhui sang all the way back to the base.

\---------------------------

Seungcheol looked across the kitchen counter at the snivelling kid cowering on his stool. The cup of tea Mingyu had put in front of him had long gone cold but nobody had bothered to get him another or ask if he even wanted one.

Changkyun was a few months older than Seungcheol but, as far as he understood, the kid was sheltered. He hadn’t exactly been a criminal before this. Just a kid who was in the wrong place at the wrong time when, luckily, Hyunwoo and Kihyun picked him up.

He’d never left their side. He’d never felt the need to until last night.

Hyunwoo had been grieving, not only the loss of his kids but also the loss of his brothers. According to IM, he hadn’t been doing much more than collecting bodies for a few gangs. He wasn’t speaking to anyone besides Kihyun and they were all worried about him.

So Changkyun had taken it upon himself to do the work he would never usually have to do. Like Jihoon, his area of expertise was in the tech room, reading blueprints, hacking systems, running interference and tech support.

He’d never had to do the grunt work. Networking, going out in the field, talking to the right people to get the right answers. None of that was within his skill set but he’d certainly given it a shot last night. 

He thought sharing drinks and being friendly was what it took to get those answers. And then he’d found out just how sorely mistaken he was.

“If Kihyun finds out, he’ll cut my legs off … I’ll be like Oracle from Batman.”

Changkyun shivered, as if it were a very real threat, and Seungcheol didn’t blame him. Kihyun had always made him uneasy, like he was somewhere between Hyungwon’s willingness to do anything and Junhui’s pure sadism.

Seungcheol had never seen that man in action but all his kids listened to him without hesitation or complaint. It could be respect, it could be fear, it was most likely a combination of the two. The mousy guy had just over a hundred underlings who dared not even look at him the wrong way and, for that, Seungcheol could understand Changkyun’s fear.

“I have to call him,” he sighed sympathetically. “Even if you’re safe now, they need to know.”

Changkyun gave another sniffle and cast his eyes down at the cooled tea between his hands with a small nod of regretful acknowledgement. He’d been through a lot of trouble in an attempt not to get caught. Seungcheol hated to be the one who had to out him.

The phone rang for only half a second before Kihyun answered with a cool and flattened, “Coups.”

It felt like he hadn’t heard his voice in years and Seungcheol almost smiled. 

“Now isn’t a good time,” Kihyun warned from the other end of the line, reminding the leader of the reason why he was calling.

“I have Changkyun.” 

There was a single beat of silence.

“We’re on our way.”

Kihyun hung up the phone and Changkyun immediately let out a groan, slumping forwards with his head on his arms and whining a desperate, “Fuck … I’m in trouble” into the countertop. Seungcheol was inclined to agree. From the sound of Kihyun’s voice, he was pissed.

Chan and Hansol shuffled into the kitchen a few minutes later, chatting softly and suddenly alerting Seungcheol to the time: 5am, still early. Too early for the likes of Chan to be awake.

The youngest seemed to notice the authoritative presence in the room and instantly took a few steps back to half hide himself behind Hansol.

“Morning,” Hansol blurted out, a little sharp and startled, prompting Seungcheol to narrow his eyes at the two of them and their very shifty appearance. 

They were definitely up to something. As glad as he was to see Chan up and about after the hellish few days he’d had recently, Seungcheol was not opposed to wringing their necks in his current sleep-deprived state.

“Chan, why are you out of bed?”

“I … I was bored,” came the nervous squeak in response.

It would have been a plausible excuse if not for the anxiety rolling off him in waves. 

“I told him I’d hang out on the roof with him,” Hansol added helpfully and Chan nodded far too emphatically.

Seungcheol nodded, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest, eyes still narrowed as he pointed out, “The roof is in the other direction.”

“Well, we wanted tea first,” Chan tried, but he was shuffling back towards the hallway as though he desperately wanted to spin on his heel and sprint out of the line of fire.

The door swung open and Minghao walked in, immediately skidding to a stop with widened eyes as he spotted what it was that Chan and Hansol were hiding between them. Seungcheol watched the Chinese kid turn around and leave the room without further ado, mumbling something in Mandarin under his breath.

“Okay, hand it over,” Seungcheol commanded, holding out his palm and glaring with raised eyebrows as the youngest two glanced first at each other and then back at him.

Changkyun gave an amused snort, clearly able to see what was being hidden from his side of the island.

“Kihyun would have knocked both your teeth out for disobeying a direct order,” he chuckled, apparently happy to no longer be the only one in trouble. 

“He’s right,” Seungcheol nodded without taking his eyes off Hansol and Chan. “Just because I haven’t sent you to Kihyun yet doesn’t mean that I won’t.”

“Send who to me?”

Changkyun jumped almost a foot off his stool as the kitchen door banged open and Kihyun stormed in with Wonho and Hyunwoo on his tail. Wonho took one look at Chan, snapped his fingers and held out of his hand with a no-nonsense expression on his face.

Chan instantly recoiled in fright and rounded the counter until he was standing at Seungcheol’s side, revealing what he and Hansol had so desperately been trying to hide.

A rifle. A fucking rifle. And not just any rifle, a fucking sniper rifle with the large characters for ‘DINO’ engraved on the scope.

“Who the fuck gave the kid a personalised sniper rifle?” Kihyun scoffed incredulously and Chan shuffled a couple of steps to the left, as though trying to conceal himself behind Seungcheol.

“The only person who can,” the leader sighed, scrubbing his hands tiredly over his face. “Chan, get back to your room. I’ll deal with that later.”

Hansol and Chan made to leave without another word but Wonho once again blocked them with one of his gigantic arms and, this time, Chan handed over the weapon.

“You too,” Wonho grunted, nodding to the rocket launcher Hansol was clutching behind his back. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” came the indignant reply.

“Hansol, don’t argue. Just leave it here and go find Shua.”

“Why? Because the fucking muscle pig says so? What kind of leader lets people into their house to boss his guys around?”

“Hansol, now is not the time,” Seungcheol ground out irritably. 

“Wow …” Kihyun murmured, tilting his head to the side and staring at Seungcheol as if he truly couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Jihoon was right. You really are a sap.”

He stalked right up to Hansol and flicked him in the centre of his forehead. For just a finger on bone, the sound it made was stomach-churning and the shriek of pain Hansol released wouldn’t have been out of place in an animal attack.

“Now drop the fucking sass and listen to Cheol or else I’ll gladly come and knock some fucking sense into you.”

The scene was hilarious. Kihyun only came up to Hansol’s chin but it was worth it to see the boy finally doing as he was told. Seungcheol would never resort to beating his charges – none of them would respond well to that – but Kihyun had a way of disciplining that seemed more like a fed-up mother than an abusive mafia leader.

Hansol shot Seungcheol a look, pulling his hands down from his forehead to reveal the swelling that had already started tinting his skin an angry red and grabbed Chan’s hand, tugging him out of the room. 

That was when Kihyun turned to Changkyun, any hint of mirth vanishing from his face.

“Now you.”

He strode forwards and, just when Seungcheol thought he was about to raise his fist, threw his arms around the boy’s neck and squeezed so tightly that the veins in Changkyun’s temple started to bulge threateningly.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Kihyun hissed into his shoulder. “We were so fucking worried about you, you selfish brat.”

“Selfish?” Changkyun sputtered incredulously, shoving Kihyun away from him with his eyes widened in disbelief. “ _I’m_ selfish?”

“Yes!” Hyunwoo snapped from where he was still hanging back by the door, looking considerably thinner and paler than when Seungcheol had last seen him. “Do you know what you put us through? After everything … after everything, you can’t do that.”

Changkyun spat out a mirthless laugh, “You’re one to talk, boss! You probably only knew I was gone because somebody told you. I haven’t seen you in days! The only way I know you’re home is from the cams! You don’t eat with us, you don’t speak to us, you won’t even cry with us!”

His hands were shaking and tears were starting to slide gracefully over his bruised cheek.

“And Kihyun … You’re his second. Aren’t you supposed to do something about that?”

“That’s not fair, Kyunie. We’re not having the easiest time right now.”

“Neither am I!” Changkyun yelled, scrambling off his stool and glaring at the three members of his gang standing in the room with him. “I lost them, too! Jooheon was my best friend! Hyungwon was always there for me when none of you could be bothered to deal with the ‘selfish brat’ in your team!”

Hyunwoo glanced self-consciously over at Seungcheol who was silently observing from the other side of the counter, “Let’s do this privately.”

“Why?”

“This is none of their business.”

“Yes, it is!” Changkyun exploded, balling his hands into fists and screaming at the top of his lungs as the tears continued to roll. “We were all friends and you know it so _you_ stop acting like a spoilt brat and fucking speak to him, you fucking coward!”

He was going to regret that later judging by the look on Kihyun’s face. They had all been in a tight-knit relationship but Seungcheol understood that it was all in the past now.

“Come on, Kyunie,” Wonho said softly, holding out a hand for their maknae to take. “We’ll talk about it at home.”

Again, Seungcheol was reminded that he and Changkyun were the same age. He’d never had anyone to look up to. He was bred to lead. No one but the Mins and his uncle-father duo were above him. He’d had friends but even they were his underlings and, here with his team, they all looked to him for guidance.

He’d treasured what he had with Hyunwoo. He’d treasured Jooheon and Hyungwon and Mingi, too, but he’d had something special with Hyunwoo. And he missed it terribly. 

“Hyunwoo.” He didn’t expect his voice to crack when he finally addressed his former friend. “Can’t we talk?”

He was already bracing himself for the ‘no’ but Hyunwoo merely let out a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping, eyes fluttering exhaustedly. He suddenly looked so much older than his twenty years.

“Wait for me outside.”

Wonho and Kihyun nodded silently, taking a whimpering Changkyun with them as they left the room, Kihyun tossing Seungcheol a wink just before he could close the door behind them.

And then the leaders were alone.

“I … I never got the chance to –”

“Don’t. Just … I don’t want your apologies, Cheol.”

“I don’t know what more I can give!” Seungcheol countered desperately. “Hyungwon … Jooheon … they protected my kids and I loved them like my own blood so I know it must be ten times worse for you but you have to know that I’m truly sorry they were dragged into my shit.”

Hyunwoo said nothing and it was the silence that drove Seungcheol to stupidity. He pulled his gun out of his belt, set it down on the counter and slid it towards the person he’d once trusted with his life.

“Take your revenge, Hyunwoo.”

Hyunwoo glared up at him, nostrils suddenly flaring with fury.

“Is that what you think this is about?” he growled, snatching up the gun, flicking off the safety and rounding the counter in a single second so he could jam the barrel into the centre of Seungcheol’s forehead. “You think killing you will make it better? Letting your kids feel what I felt, you think that will make it better?”

He slammed his shoulder into Seungcheol’s, kicking his feet out from under him and sending him sprawling flat on his back on the ground. Seungcheol barely even had time to take a breath, completely winded, before Hyunwoo took aim and pulled the trigger.

The sound echoed around the kitchen, reverberating off the walls, and Seungcheol felt a warm stickiness trickling down into his hair but he resisted the urge to reach up and ensure his entire ear hadn’t been blown off.

From the other side of the door, there was the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn, the low growl of Minghao’s voice rising to shouts, Joshua and Seokmin yelling, Chan and Hansol thundering down the stairs, Mingyu, Seungkwan and Soonyoung demanding entrance and even Jihoon’s gravelly tone Wonwoo’s deep voice pleading with who ever was in his path.

It all created a mighty crescendo that ended as soon as Junhui roared for silence and the door swung open. From where he was, Seungcheol couldn’t see who had entered but he couldn’t even bring himself to look away from the gun Hyunwoo was still pointing in his face.

“You hear that, Coups?” he whispered. “You’re responsible for all of them. If you told them to walk off a cliff, they would because they love you and they trust you.”

And then it finally made sense.

Hyunwoo wasn’t mad at Seungcheol. He was mad at himself. He’d given the order to assist. He hadn’t kept track of his own men. He hadn’t realised they were walking into a death trap. None of this had anything to do with Seungcheol at all. It was all Hyunwoo dealing with his own failure.

“Hyun …”

“It’s my fault, Cheol,” the leader hissed, his voice cracking as he finally lowered the gun. “Don’t you see? You don’t have anything to apologise for.”

“Hyunwoo …”

“It’s my fault, Cheol. I killed them. I led them here to their deaths and I know … I know it’s the job. I know it’s what happens. But that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“I found out my mother died that night, Hyunwoo,” Seungcheol interjected, cautiously pushing himself into a sitting position as the blood continued to trickle down his neck.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I was off my game and I shouldn’t have been. I should have been watching Hyungwon’s back. I should have seen that guy before he even picked up the gun.”

“That’s not your fault,” Hyunwoo insisted furiously.

“And it’s not yours either.” 

He carefully rose to his feet, glancing over to where Junhui, Joshua and Kihyun were standing in the doorway. All of them looked visibly relieved to see him standing but he still had to throw out a cautioning hand of warning when Joshua started forwards at the sight of the blood on his face.

Hyunwoo stumbled slightly before dropping onto the nearest stool and setting the gun down on the counter.

“Give half to me,” Seungcheol pleaded, reaching forward to put his hand on his friend’s shoulder.

He could still feel the blood dribbling from his grazed ear but he didn’t address it. It didn’t matter when Hyunwoo was feeling so alone and was in so much pain and was harbouring so much hatred for himself.

“Half?”

“Yeah. Half of that burden is mine. I’m just as responsible as you are. If you insist on blaming yourself then the least I can do... as your friend is shoulder some of that with you.” 

Hyunwoo looked like he may very well have broken down then and there, something which would have been very new to all of them, but instead he extended his hand and placed it on Seungcheol’s shoulder, mirroring the action of a few seconds previously.

“I’ll keep my burden,” he croaked hoarsely. “But I’ll call you ‘friend’.”

Seungcheol nodded solemnly despite the relief that washed over him.

“And we’ll take this motherfucker down together.”


	25. Bedtime for Snipers and Ninjas

Hyunwoo wasn’t able to stay at the bunker for very long, too many memories of the fight that had taken the lives of his members, therefore Seungcheol temporarily relocated to the chop shop so they could discuss their next moves.

Joshua and Junhui were back out on recon, scoping out all the places Mingyu knew to be under Takashima’s name while Mingyu himself was currently sitting in the chair beside Wonho, pointing at something on the tablet screen between them.

“This is where he usually is,” he was saying as Kihyun peered over their shoulders and typed something into his phone. “It’s where he sleeps, eats and operates from so if we’re going to find him, it’ll be there.”

“How many times have you been inside?” Minhyuk questioned, one arm slung over Changkyun’s shoulder as the kid tapped away at his laptop perched on the coffee table between them. “You think you know it well enough to draw a map?”

Seungcheol glanced up at Mingyu’s expression. He was trying not to show it but the fear was peeking through the cracks in his mask of indifference and he was blinking far too rapidly for somebody who wasn’t trying to fight off a flashback.

He’d suffered immense pain at the hands of this man and now they were asking him to relive it just so they could take revenge for something he hadn’t even been a part of. It wasn’t fair but Seungcheol would have been lying if he said he wasn’t stunned at how helpful Mingyu was being.

It had only been a couple of weeks since he’d joined them but already he’d forged friendships that didn’t look like they would be easy to break and the skills and insight he brought to the table was infallible. They wouldn’t be able to do this without him.

“I think so,” he muttered, brows knitted in the centre of his forehead as his fingers tapped rhythmically against the inside of his wrist. “I got summoned a lot during the early stages of training but I was usually drugged or bleeding … or both. I could probably remember the way to his office and the way to the red room but I never went anywhere else. Not while I was conscious anyway.”

Seungcheol narrowed his eyes, “Red room? What’s the red room?”

If it was important enough to have an ominous nickname then it might be worth a raid. They could find something, anything, that could help them track down Takashima’s allies or erase any information he had on them.

Mingyu let out a bitter huff of mirthless amusement without looking up from the tablet in Wonho’s hands.

“Trust me,” he said with a quirk to one corner of his mouth. “It doesn’t contain anything of importance. That’s where you go when you fuck up. And I mean _really_ fuck up. There’s a reason it’s called the red room.”

Seungcheol saw the sideways glances everybody shot at him but no one dared speak up and address the sheer lack of emotion behind Mingyu’s words. It begged the question: how many times had Mingyu _really_ fucked up?

“Shua and Jun are questioning Kwan as we speak,” Seungcheol interjected in an attempt to change the subject. “If Takashima was a regular then there’s a possibility that Kwan knew something about his movements.”

“And you’re sure he won’t call Takashima to tip him off?” Hyunwoo shot from over by the guns he was compulsively cleaning. “He already knows we’re after him and don’t forget that you have something he wants.”

He most definitely hadn’t forgotten. That was the reason Minghao was currently pacing back and forth in front of the window, twirling his knife between his fingers and mumbling something in Mandarin that nobody could hear nor decipher.

Seungcheol wasn’t prepared to let the kid out of his sight, not now that he knew how desperate Takashima was to get his hands on him. So long as Minghao was beside him, he would be protected.

“Don’t worry,” he responded with a very forced tone of reassurance. “Jun has methods. Let’s just say he can be particularly … persuasive. Kwan won’t talk, I can assure you.”

Hyunwoo gave a hum of acknowledgement but the speed with which his fingers whizzed over the steel contraptions in front of him increased just a little, as though his fears weren’t quite put to rest by Seungcheol’s promise.

He’d lost two friends to this guy. It was going to take a while before he learned to live with that let alone stopped freaking out about every possible hiccup in an otherwise flawless operation.

Minhyuk rose from his chair, cricking his neck and stretching his arms above him with a wince as his joints popped. Seungcheol just so happened to glance over and catch the moment his shirt rode up, exposing the multitude of pink puckered slashes in his abdomen.

He probably should have still been on bedrest but instead he was planning a raid on one of the most dangerous organisations Seungcheol had ever come across. It had him thinking back to Wonwoo and Seungkwan and how hard they were trying to regain the strength they’d had before the attack that had almost killed the both of them.

They were stubborn, tough and resilient as hell but Seungcheol would never be able to guarantee their safety if he led them into this. The same could be said for every one of his guys but those two were particularly vulnerable.

“It’s getting late,” Minhyuk announced, snapping Seungcheol out of his reverie and prompting him to check his watch, confirming that it was, indeed, almost three in the morning. “I need my beauty sleep and I can’t do that with a ninja in my house.”

Minghao stopped his mindless pacing and shot the man his best and most terrifying death glare that only had Minhyuk cooing at how cute the little fluffy bean looked when he was trying to be scary.

Seungcheol decided that it was probably best he take his kids home before Minghao tried to use anyone here as target practise. Joshua and Junhui should be returning from Kwan’s and Soonyoung had promised he would have fresh intel by the time they got back.

“We’ll pick this up again in the morning?” he asked the room at large as he tugged on his jacket and picked the sleep out of his eyes. 

“It is the morning …” Changkyun grumbled under his breath but one look from Kihyun had his lips clamping themselves firmly shut.

Seungcheol was definitely going to have to ask that boy how he managed to trigger a fear so intense without turning everybody against him. They were terrified of him, sure, but they would still die for him and that was not an easy image to obtain.

After a chorus of half-hearted farewells, the three of them slipped out through the door and into the car that sat awaiting their presence in the road outside. Mingyu took the passenger seat while Minghao crawled into the back, curling up against the door and burying his face in his scarf.

He was scared, Seungcheol realised, as he watched the boy in the rear-view mirror. And who could blame him? The person who’d murdered his family and killed his friends was out for his blood and didn’t seem to care what lengths he had to go to in order to get it.

 _I’m going to protect you_ , Seungcheol promised himself as he pushed his foot down on the gas pedal and pulled out onto the dual carriageway. _I’m going to protect you with my life. That man will never lay a hand on you again._

He should have learnt by now that he shouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. 

“Shit!”

The brake pedal almost shattered from the force with which he slammed his foot into it, the car screeching to a very ungraceful stop as the smell of burning rubber wafted up from the tyres and all of them pitched forwards.

“What the fuck?” Mingyu spluttered, clutching at his shoulder where the seatbelt had dug into the tender flesh. “What are you doing?”

Minghao was once again on the fullest alert, back straight and eyes wide, looking a little bit like a meerkat as he tried to crane his neck in an attempt to see what his leader had seen through the windscreen.

“There’s someone in front of the car,” Seungcheol hissed under his breath, ripping his seatbelt off and scrambling out through the door.

The bunker was looming through the darkness in front of them, silent and intimidating from the lack of lights in the windows. They were barely thirty feet from the garage door, so close to safety. Another ten seconds and they would have been out of sight.

Seungcheol whipped his gun from his belt and clicked off the safety as he crept around to the front of the car, signalling for Minghao and Mingyu to stay quiet from where they were carefully clambering out onto the pavement.

The body wasn’t moving. The only indication that it wasn’t actually a _body_ was the ragged rise and fall of its chest as it gasped for air in its crumpled heap on the gravel. The bumper of the car was less than a foot from its shoulder.

“Hey!” Seungcheol called cautiously, levelling his gun and taking aim. “Show me your hands!”

There was no response from the tangle of limbs shrouded in darkness and clad in black. The person, whoever it was, was curled up on their side as though they had simply collapsed onto the ground from whatever injury or illness was ailing them.

It could have been a coincidence. They might have just been searching for help and had lost the strength to keep going but it seemed too unlikely that they would choose this exact building to keel over in front of.

Mingyu and Minghao were scanning the area, backs to the car and eyes scrutinising the gloom for any sign of an ambush, weapons in hand and at the ready.

Seungcheol stuck out of his foot and gave the body’s knee a firm prod, suspicions only rising when a strangled groan emanated from the mop of white blonde hair protruding from underneath a hood and behind a mask.

Even in the darkness, the fluttering of eyelids was just about visible as the poor unfortunate soul stared up at the looming threat and pried apart its cracked lips.

“Cheol …”

“Holy shit,” Seungcheol breathed, dropping to his knees and casting his gun aside in favour of seizing the body by the shoulders so he could wrench it into the path of the car’s headlamps. “Oh my God … Oh my God!”

Leeteuk’s head rolled weakly against his shoulder as though his neck was too weak to support it. There was blood on his lips and bruises on his face but Seungcheol still caught the ghost of a smile before he clamped his arms around that skeletal frame.

“I thought you were dead …” he gasped out, cupping the back of Leeteuk’s head and sending a silent prayer up to heaven. “I thought he killed you. Or sent you away. I thought I was never going to see you again.”

He realised, too late, that he was squeezing tightly enough to cause pain but he wasn’t sure he was physically capable of letting go.

After everything, all the bereavement, all the loss, all the death and destruction and despair, to have somebody he loved come back from all of that would have been enough to bring him to tears if not for the whisper that left Leeteuk’s lips.

“They’re coming … for me ...”

No sooner had Seungcheol processed the message, the windshield shattered and glass came gushing over the hood like a tidal wave of jagged diamonds.

He stooped over Leeteuk, clutching the man’s head against his chest in an attempt to protect him from the assault and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mingyu and Minghao ducking behind the open car doors for cover.

“Fuck …”

It had been a trap. Somebody had beaten Leeteuk to a bloody pulp and left him on Seungcheol’s doorstep as bait, to draw him out for whatever sadistic motives they had.

Bullets were peppering the car’s reinforced metal, obliterating the windows and the headlights and threatening to punch straight through in their hunger to find a warm body to burrow into.

Seungcheol remained hunched across Leeteuk’s body, desperate to shield him from further harm, but he was all too aware of his vulnerability in this position. His free hand groped behind him for his gun as Mingyu peeked out from his hiding place and fired a couple of shots.

He couldn’t even see the enemy let alone calculate where he should be aiming. There could be just a couple of them or over a dozen. They could be known enemies or total strangers. They could be Takashima’s men or they could be Seungcheol’s own people.

He had no way of knowing and the helplessness was infuriating.

A fresh wave of stifled gunfire sliced through the air, this time from behind, and he whipped around to see something faceless and black sprinting forwards just before Joshua was skidding to his knees beside him.

He was still in his combat gear, mask concealing his features and body bulked up with various packs of ammo strapped to his chest. He and Junhui must have only just got back. One hell of a welcome.

“I counted twelve,” Joshua growled, pressing his back up against the hood of the car and reloading his clip. “They’ve got cover at this level but they’re exposed from above. Jun’s gone to find a vantage point on the roof.”

His eyes zipped down to Leeteuk’s body still cradled in Seungcheol’s arms, barely conscious and nothing more than deadened weight. It would be almost impossible to get him inside in his current state without risking being shot.

“They’re moving forward!” Mingyu called from the left, releasing a few more shots over the top of the door. “And I’m out of ammo!”

“Can’t get sword!” Minghao added, reminding Seungcheol that the kid’s blade was currently lying in the back seat, completely out of reach.

Junhui had better hurry the fuck up.

“Gyu!” Joshua called out, ripping a pack of bullets off his belt and sliding it across the ground towards Mingyu. “Cheol, stay down. I already called backup.”

And with that, he vanished, slipping around the hood to join a completely unarmed and defenceless Minghao behind the right-side door. Gunfire was still volleying backwards and forwards from both sides and all Seungcheol could do was keep shielding Leeteuk.

Behind him, he heard the bunker door banging open, somebody screamed “get down!” and then the night exploded.

Seungcheol felt the force of the blast in his bones, the ground shuddering beneath him as he screwed his eyes shut and ducked as low as he could to protect himself and Leeteuk from the crackle and spew of the flames.

The backs of his eyelids were glowing gold, his nostrils were filled with the stench of smoke and he could literally feel the heat rippling through the air in overpowering waves. Whatever was on fire was burning fast. 

“Come on!” came a shout in his ear and he raised his head to see Joshua’s soot-smeared face looming over him. “We have to get inside! Now!”

It was utter chaos.

Through the gases and fumes and thick black clumps of toxicity, Seungcheol could make out Mingyu’s gigantic silhouette. Junhui’s shadow was dancing through the smoke, disappearing and reappearing as if he were made of the stuff himself.

They were providing cover, taking advantage of the sudden eruption, so that he and Joshua could hook Leeteuk’s arms over their shoulders and half-carry-half-drag him back towards the bunker.

Hansol was crouched in the doorway, speedily reloading his rocket launcher as he beckoned them forwards with frantic movements and screams to _hurry the fuck up._

At least Seungcheol knew now who had been responsible for the explosion in his front yard. Not that he could complain though. Hansol had most likely just saved all of their lives. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the car.

Seungkwan and Seokmin were waiting just inside the door, ready to take Leeteuk and whisk him away to the medbay so that Seungcheol and Joshua could return to the fight.

The wind had picked up in the last hour-or-so, successfully dispersing the smoke into the sky and steadily clearing the view that had, until that moment, been completely impenetrable. The car was still ablaze, flames lapping at the tyres and crawling towards the roof, the smell of petrol burning their airways.

Mingyu seemed to have run out of ammunition since he’d tossed his gun aside and was now engaging in a brutally grotesque fistfight with a man who was almost twice his size. Junhui’s firearm had been swatted out of his hand but there was already a body at his feet and the two guys who were ganging up on him weren’t going to stand a chance.

Seungcheol caught the Glock that Joshua tossed him and put a bullet through the head of someone who’d been aiming for Mingyu’s back. The body count was rising and they were winning but, any moment now, the car could blow and take all of them out with it.

A fist came swinging in the vague direction of Seungcheol’s face but he had the owner flat on his back, gasping for air, before he could get within a couple of inches. Keeping one hand clasped around his attacker’s throat, he used the other to rip off his mask and press the barrel of his gun into the man’s forehead.

“Who are you?” he roared over the sound of gunfire and the sizzle of the growing flames. “Who sent you here?”

The guy’s eyes were bulging, veins popping in his temples, fingers scrabbling uselessly at the chokehold that Seungcheol wasn’t prepared to release.

“Tell me or I kill you right now!”

The only response he got was an ugly gurgle and a hideous bloodied grin. He shouldn’t have expected anything less. Every organisation trained their field agents never to give up identifying information that could potentially incriminate their commanding officer.

Seungcheol squeezed the trigger, not even waiting for the light to leave his victim’s eyes before he ripped open the man’s shirt to expose his shoulder. There was no tattoo, no insignia, no brand that would indicate this was the work of Seungcheol’s uncle.

“Help! Coups! Coups! Help!”

His head snapped up, squinting through the tears that the residual smoke had brought to his eyes, and felt every last molecule of anger in his body burst into flames.

Both Junhui’s guys were dead and Mingyu’s was groaning on the ground with a pair of very clearly broken legs and a dislocated shoulder. There were only two of them left and they both had a grip on Minghao.

The kid was screaming in both Korean and Mandarin, struggling tooth and nail to throw off the hands that were burning bruises into his upper arms. His feet kicked out, occasionally both of them at once, but even putting his deadened weight in their grasp wasn’t enough to get them to drop him.

He was just skin and bone anyway, too easy to grab, restrain and drag backwards to a van that was waiting with its rear doors open. 

They were trying to take him.

“Let him go!” Seungcheol bellowed, skidding forwards and closing one eye to improve his aim. “I said let him go!”

It was like he’d never even spoken for all the reaction that he got. His finger flexed against the trigger but the only sound that graced his ears was the unmistakable click of an empty chamber.

Shit.

Discarding the useless weapon, he lurched towards them, Mingyu and Junhui doing the same on his right, but he barely made it a couple of steps before a bullet grazed the skin of his arm.

He dodged sideways, totally indifferent to the blood soaking through his shirt and the pain burning in his muscles, lunging for cover with a scream of frustration.

They couldn’t get close enough. None of them had any ammo left. Minghao was being abducted right in front of them and there was absolutely nothing they could do to stop it. Just a few minutes ago, Seungcheol had sworn to himself that he would protect that child with his life and now he was cowering behind a wall.

That wasn’t what a leader did.

He scrambled back up, unsure what exactly he was planning to do but knowing he couldn’t just let them take him. Minghao was already in the van, one of the gunmen climbing into the driver’s seat and the other preparing to close the doors.

“Minghao!”

_Pop._

The first guy tumbled right out of the vehicle and landed on the ground with a heavy thump, leaving the door wide open and the engine still running as he lay there, motionless and bleeding from the head.

_Pop._

The second guy went down, too, his gun going off as he fell, spraying an arc of bullets through the air before he hit the concrete and both he and his gun lay still.

Seungcheol just stood there, eyes wide, shoulder bleeding, standing in the midst of a dozen corpses with his car slowly charring behind him. He spun around, glancing at Junhui and Mingyu and finding them both looking just as confused as he was.

Where had those shots come from?

“Minghao.”

His voice was cracked from the smoke burning the back of his throat but the moment that Minghao hopped out of the van, he felt all of the pain, confusion and panic just draining from his body.

“You’re okay,” he murmured as the kid barrelled into his arms, face streaked with tears and shoulders trembling. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I promise. You’re okay. They won’t get you. They aren’t ever going to get you. I won’t let them. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He could feel Minghao nodding shakily into his chest but that was the extent of his sensory capabilities. He was exhausted, he was bleeding and he needed to check on Leeteuk.

Joshua and Hansol had managed to tap into a water pipe somewhere and were using the force of its jet to counteract the flames engulfing the car. Mingyu strode forwards, laying a large hand on Minghao’s shoulder and, almost instantly, the boy turned out of Seungcheol’s embrace and latched onto Mingyu’s.

“You got him?” the leader grunted.

“I got him.”

Seungcheol nodded his gratitude, retrieving his unloaded gun from the ground and slowly trudging back into the bunker.

His head was muddled with a million different thoughts, scenarios chasing each other and bouncing off the walls of his skull, and all he really wanted to do was collapse on top of his bed and sleep for a week, but he couldn’t do that.

He knew who those people were now.

“Cheol?” came a harried chirp from above and Seungcheol stopped to look up.

“Chan?”

Chan was barrelling down the stairs two at a time, a sniper rifle clutched in one hand and a breathy grin split across his face as he skidded to attention in front of his leader.

“Did you see?” he gasped breathlessly. “Did you see, Cheol? Did you see me hit them?”

For a moment, Seungcheol was completely non-plussed but then it clicked and he felt both surprise and incredulity flaring inside of him as he glanced down at the sniper rifle and then back up at the kid’s face.

“That was you?”

Chan nodded, still beaming from ear to ear like a child who’d just won first prize at the local science fair. It was moments like these that Seungcheol was reminded just how young the maknae was.

And now he could shoot a sniper rifle with absolutely perfect precision.

Heaven help them all.

“You did good,” Seungcheol sighed, a tired smile stretching his facial muscles and a bloodied hand squeezing Chan’s shoulder. “You did really good. You saved Hao’s life.”

The pride on Chan’s face was priceless.

“Now go to bed.”

And then it was gone. 

\--------------------

“Thanks, Seok,” Seungcheol murmured softly as Seokmin applied the last piece of tape to the bandage around his upper arm. “Go get some sleep, okay?”

Seokmin nodded, a tiny timid bob of his head that betrayed just how shaken up he was after the night’s events. Even though they were all alive, even though they were all okay, even though they’d left the bunker and moved into one of the chop shop’s safehouses, the kid was still on edge.

Seungcheol didn’t blame him. Unlike the rest of them, Seokmin hadn’t seen conflict. Seokmin had never been trained to handle a weapon or been told what to do when someone held a gun to his head. He must be terrified.

The door made a soft click as it closed, leaving Seungcheol free to move over to the single bed in the corner of the room, pull up a stool and sit down with his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers interlocked in front of him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Leeteuk croaked with a weak smile.

Both Seokmin and Kihyun had looked him over and diagnosed a concussion, a couple of broken ribs, a fractured cheekbone, a dislocated shoulder and a multitude of bruises the same shade as the night sky. 

But it could have been so much worse.

“Can you talk about it?” Seungcheol asked, watching as his friend’s expression dimmed a little, even in the gloom. “It’s okay if you can’t.”

He didn’t know what Leeteuk had been through. How he’d managed to escape from Wonbin, how he’d ended up in the middle of the road like that, who had hurt him and why Takashima’s men had somehow managed to use him as bait.

Leeteuk winced as he wedged his uninjured arm beneath himself so he could lever his battered torso into a more upright position, batting away Seungcheol’s efforts to guide him back down onto the bed.

He was quite a sight: bruises, cuts, butterfly bandages and steri-strips. Kihyun had even put a couple of stitches in his eyebrow. He used to have such fire in his eyes but that, like everything else that was his, had been beaten out of him a long time ago.

“I’m a little foggy on the details,” he mumbled, raking his overly long hair out of his face once he’d got himself situated against the headboard. “I knew Wonbin was going to get rid of me. I could tell he was bored and he was hitting me so much harder than before. He used to be careful, you know? About doing me any lasting damage.”

Seungcheol simply nodded, hands curling into fists and fingernails cutting ridges in his palms as he tried his damn hardest to remain composed and silent while Leeteuk gave his testimony.

“And when he found out I helped you …” He trailed off, what remained of his colour draining away at the mere memory of what had been done to him. “I did everything I could to stall him, Cheol, but you know your uncle. When he wants something done, he doesn’t stop.”

Seungcheol had trusted that man. He’d thought that man cared for him. He’d thought that – maybe, just maybe – that man had loved him but he was no different from his father. Just a greedy, money-grabbing psychopath.

“I think it was a trick from the start, Cheol,” Leeteuk whispered. “I’m so sorry but I think he was using me to draw you out. He gave me to Takashima because he knew that seeing me hurt would distract you and then those men could get what they wanted. I’m sorry, Cheol.”

“It’s not your fault,” Seungcheol insisted, keeping his expression blank even though his heart was sinking into his stomach. “You played no part in this.”

The betrayal was crippling. Not only had his uncle sold him out to Takashima on two separate occasions, putting him and his team at serious risk and indirectly causing the death of three of his friends, but he’d also used the one person who still reminded Seungcheol of his mother as a weapon.

Forcing him back to Daegu so that he wouldn’t be there to protect his kids was one thing but actually handing Leeteuk over like a piece of meat specifically to distract Seungcheol long enough for them to take Minghao was just beyond anything and everything.

If he didn’t have the following of a small army, Wonbin would already be dead and Seungcheol would be the one holding the gun.

“What do they want, Cheol?” Leeteuk rasped, snapping Seungcheol from the fantasy of standing over his uncle’s bleeding body. “Can’t you just give it to them? They’re not going to stop until they have it. They’ll kill you.”

It wasn’t even an answer worth considering.

“No,” Seungcheol responded at once, squeezing Leeteuk’s hand and shaking his head. “I can’t give it to them. I won’t give it to them.”

“What even is it? What’s so important that you would risk your life and the lives of your team?”

“A child,” Seungcheol said, completely void of any and all emotion. “That ‘it’ is a child. An orphan, sixteen years old. There is very, _very_ little I wouldn’t do for my team, Leeteuk, but sacrificing one of them is at that top of that list. It’s wrong and I don’t care if my father would say it’s weak. I won’t ever trade one life for another.”

There was nothing but pain in Leeteuk’s face. Sympathy, discomfort, exhaustion, concern. He looked truly defeated and it broke Seungcheol to see him like that when his only crime had been to get too boring for his abusive ass of a husband.

“You may regret that one day,” he murmured softly, giving Seungcheol’s hand a feeble squeeze.

“I don’t think I will.”

There was the sharp rap of knuckles on the door before it swung open and Soonyoung marched into the room, a cap pulled low over his eyes and a file swinging in his hand as he made his way over to them.

He wasn’t okay. That much was obvious. Seungcheol had barely seen him do anything but track Takashima for hours on end. Occasionally, he would engage in one of Junhui’s fighting sessions but, even then, he was detached and volatile.

Losing Mingi and then putting Monkey up for adoption had truly taken its toll on him.

“Leeteuk, this is Hoshi,” Seungcheol introduced, concluding that Soonyoung wasn’t about to do it himself. “He’s going to help you disappear. New name, new passport, new identity. So long as he’s in charge, my uncle won’t ever be able to find you.”

He couldn’t quite read the expression on Leeteuk’s bruised face but he could imagine it was one of solemn acceptance. Leaving everything you knew behind and starting an entirely new life was about as traumatising as it got but it was the only way to keep him safe.

“Cheol,” Soonyoung grunted, drawing the leader’s attention up towards his bloodshot eyes. “There’s been a breakthrough. We know how to get Takashima.”

Finally. This was it. No more running, no more hiding, no more checking over his shoulder every time he left his bunker for fear that he would return to find even more bodies to bury.

“Okay,” he nodded, giving Leeteuk’s hand one final squeeze before pushing off his stool and reaching for the door. “Brief Teuk on what’s going to happen next for him and then come join us. We’re not wasting another second on this motherfucker.”

This had to end. Now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there. Stick around for the bonus chapter.


	26. One Final Breath

There was always a rush of adrenaline before a mission. The blood pumping, the heart thudding, the hairs standing on end as the body prepared itself for a fight. And Seungcheol always fed off that rush. He relished in it. He lived for it. He needed it like he needed to breathe because, without it, he would get lost in his head and never surface again.

The rush kept him alive. It kept him on his feet, kept him sane and ready for whatever might be about to attack him the second that he turned his back. If he didn’t feel that rush then it meant he wasn’t taking the mission seriously enough.

And this was one mission he couldn’t afford not to take seriously.

The safehouse was mostly made up of small rooms with beds and bathrooms stuffed in between the wooden walls but there was one huge space right in the centre of the maze of hallways in which sat a gigantic table, roughly fifteen foot in diameter.

It was like a cross between a conference room and a medieval film about knights in shining armour. Junhui had joked that it made the perfect aesthetic for their current life-or-death situation and only now could Seungcheol see where he was coming from.

They were all standing around it, strapping packs of ammo to their bodies, feeding bullets into the chambers of their guns and sliding knives into the sheaths on their waists or thighs. Nobody was speaking and it wouldn’t have taken a genius to see that they were all preparing themselves for a one-way trip into hell.

In the very centre of the table sat three guns, perfectly in line with each other and all pointing in the same direction as if it wasn’t already obvious enough that somebody had specifically placed them as such.

Three guns. Mingi’s, Jooheon’s and Hyungwon’s. A reminder. A promise. Insurance that none of them were about to back out so long as they remembered why they were doing this.

_We will avenge you or we will die trying._

“Hey, listen up!” Seungcheol shouted, his voice slicing through the silence like a whipcrack as everybody immediately froze in position and a dozen heads swivelled round to face him.

There was a very real chance that none of them were coming back. 

“I’m not the best at pep talks,” the leader continued, keeping his tone steady despite the anxiety that was nibbling away at his insides. “But if I don’t say something then I know I’m going to regret it.”

He took a deep breath.

“Don’t any of you dare fucking die.”

It wasn’t exactly inspiring but it got the reaction he was hoping for. The tension was shattered and a wave of breathy laughter rippled over the table as both Hansol and Junhui started a round of exaggerated applause.

Raising a hand for silence, Seungcheol continued, still grinning a little giddily.

“Seriously, though. I don’t think I need to tell you all how dangerous this is. The chances that we all walk out of this in one piece are slim to none. There may be casualties, there will be injuries and things will go wrong. The stakes are high, though. We all want to do this to avenge the people that were taken from us and to protect those who are still in danger.”

His eyes flickered instinctively over to Minghao who was busy twirling his gun around his finger the way that Joshua had taught him. Seungcheol had insisted that he leave his sword behind and, although he clearly hadn’t liked it, the kid had begrudgingly agreed.

If it were up to Seungcheol entirely, he wouldn’t take Minghao at all. They would be practically delivering him to Takashima, gift-wrapped with a bow on top. But Minghao needed this just as badly as the rest of them did, maybe even more. So, the least they could do was hide his identity by disposing of his iconic weapon.

“However, I know that this isn’t everyone’s fight and the very last thing I want to do is drag somebody into a battle that they don’t want to participate in.”

He had to do this. Takashima was never going to stop coming after Minghao but that didn’t mean that anyone else had to throw their life on the line, especially considering just how similar to a suicide mission this was.

“There won’t be any judgement. There isn’t any pressure. If there’s somebody out there tonight who doesn’t feel safe, who doesn’t want to be there but who felt like they had no choice, then everybody’s life will be at risk and I will have failed as a leader. So, if you don’t want to be in this fight … say so now.” 

He waited.

And nobody said a word.

He looked around at every single face, trying to deduce who was staying silent just to protect their pride and not look weak in front of so many distinguished warriors but all he was met with were set jaws, clenched fists and unblinking eyes.

They were in this together, just like they always had been.

“Great,” Kihyun piped up with a smack of his hands. “Now that we’ve sorted that out, let’s go to war.” 

There was a collective cheer of sarcastic approval as everybody collected the last of their weapons, all of them shielding their true emotions with jokes and laughter and a stiff sense of denial at the likelihood of the fight they were walking into being a massacre.

Seungcheol watched as they all said goodbye to Seokmin and Changkyun, some with a hug and some with merely a clap on the back or a hearty handshake, before steadily filing out of the building towards the tinted-window vans that were waiting for them in the street.

He waited until the room was virtually empty before approaching the kids himself and reeling Seokmin into a tight embrace that was reciprocated with bone-crushing force.

“Please come back,” the boy whispered in his ear. “I don’t … I can’t go back to that pharmacy.”

“You won’t,” Seungcheol promised him as he drew away, pulling a slip of paper from his pocket and handing it over. “But if the worst comes to the worst and we don’t come back, call this number. It’s the people who adopted Soonyoung’s kid. They’ll take care of you.”

He left Seokmin staring down at the thick black digits scribbled in front of him and turned to Changkyun who was just pulling away from Hyunwoo’s hug.

“Don’t stop talking to us, kid,” he smirked, giving the gremlin’s shoulder a firm squeeze. “We’re gonna need you while we’re out there.”

“Promise.”

“Okay,” Hyunwoo murmured, absently giving the back of Changkyun’s head one final stroke before shaking himself out of it. “Let’s go.”

And that’s exactly what they did.

\------------------------

Seungcheol twisted the wheel and led the car up the narrow side-street where it would be totally enveloped by shadows. One of the reasons they’d chosen to do this tonight was due to the sheer impenetrability of the darkness that encompassed the streets just between two and three in the morning.

There wasn’t even the sickly shine of the moon or the pinprick glint of the stars. Nothing more than a mighty expanse of black velvet stretching into every corner of the sky.

Seungcheol glanced in the rear-view mirror at the three people in the back and was once again reminded just how few of his guys didn’t have a legal license even if they still knew how to drive. Sometimes he forgot how young they were.

Beside him, Hyunwoo was going over the skeleton blueprints Mingyu had drawn on the tablet, solemn expression illuminated by the dim glow of the screen.

One of his hands was snaking through the space between the door and his seat, reaching into the back, and although Kihyun was pretending to be busy reading the map over his leader’s shoulder, Seungcheol knew their fingers were interlocked.

One of them could die tonight.

But they knew that. That was most likely why they were holding hands.

Even the other two had momentarily stopped their seemingly endless bout of bickering so Mingyu could give Minghao some last minute tips on handling a gun. The kid was perfectly capable of burying a round of bullets in a body but it most definitely wasn’t his weapon of choice.

The car pulled to a stop and Seungcheol shut off the engine, plunging all of them into a darkness that was broken only by the gleam of Hyunwoo’s tablet.

“Tracking devices?” he grunted, swallowing the phlegm that had lodged itself in his throat and hiking his foot up onto the seat with him so he could check the slide of metal wedged behind his heel.

There was a rustle of movement both from Hyunwoo beside him and the other three in the back but then there was a ripple of hummed affirmation. They all had two: one in their shoe and another that they’d swallowed.

Neither leader had been so sure about that one, especially since Changkyun had admitted it was still in its early stages of testing but Jihoon had promised it was safe, that the chip would dissolve in their stomachs after a couple of hours without causing any side effects.

Seungcheol still wasn’t certain he believed him but if there surfaced a situation where somebody somehow managed to lose a shoe and then needed help, they would be able to find them fairly quickly, and that was what mattered.

“Hey, Shua?”

There was a miniscule crackle from the flesh-coloured device pushing up against his eardrum before Joshua’s voice came filtering through the tiny speaker.

“Yeah, we’re in position. Ready when you are.”

He, Junhui, Soonyoung, Hansol and Wonho were parked in another blind spot on the other side of the building, preparing to enter from the back. Seungcheol was wary of Hansol’s participation when he was still so young but, so long as he was with Joshua, he would do what he was told and he was a vital part of the plan.

“You know what you’re doing, right?”

“Heading straight down to the basement where they have the creepy-ass dungeon,” Junhui volleyed in a bored tone and Seungcheol could practically see him itching to leap out of the car. “Evacuate those who can be saved and kill those who can’t.”

Mingyu tensed ever so slightly in the back seat but said nothing. He was all too familiar with the condition those people would be in, especially if they’d been disobedient enough to be transferred to the main HQ for further conditioning.

They would hand those who could make it over to a hospital but it was a risky move attempting to carry multiple injured people through a warzone. The five of them would do what they could but they were aware that they could also only do so much.

“Then Hoshi, Wonho and I stay behind to plant the explosives,” Hansol cut in eagerly.

He sounded a little too excited for Seungcheol’s liking but he supposed it was better than the boy trembling with terror and threatening to freeze up the moment he faced the first dangerous situation.

They needed him to have his head on straight if he was going to set up those explosives to be triggered at exactly the right time but Soonyoung and Wonho would keep him in check as well as keep him safe while Joshua and Junhui handled the prisoners.

“Okay,” Seungcheol acknowledged, satisfied that they were familiar with their individual roles. “Stay safe. Keep talking to IM and to us, too. Don’t go silent unless you absolutely have to.”

“You, too,” Joshua fired back almost immediately. “We’re all coming back from this.”

The positivity, even though forced, was immensely appreciated. Seungcheol needed to be grounded in situations like these, in the precious few moments between the journey to the destination and the actual breach itself, and Joshua somehow knew just how to help him do that.

“Minhyuk?” Hyunwoo took over, digging one finger into his ear canal to prod at the device lodged inside. “You in position?”

“Yep. Seungkwan’s found the best angle to shoot from and Woozi’s setting up the heat camera thingies.”

Jihoon’s voice cut through the comms, irritation still evident despite the fact that he was on a roof in the middle of the night with a sniper, “The _thermal imaging cameras_ will be up in thirty seconds.”

That was good. They were going to need Jihoon and those body heat censors to know the location of Takashima’s men, how many there were and if any of them tried to escape to raise the alarm. That couldn’t be allowed to happen, hence the snipers. 

The feed from the TI camera was broadcasting to Changkyun who, other than Seokmin, was the only person who would be able to see absolutely everything once the assault began. He would monitor their trackers and make sure that none of them got shot by mistake.

“Wonwoo?” Seungcheol checked in for the last time. “You and Dino good?”

He had no idea why Chan insisted on being called ‘Dino’ but who was he to argue? So long as the kid stayed on that rooftop and did whatever Wonwoo told him, he could be named whatever he wanted.

“We’re good,” came Wonwoo’s rumbling baritone. “And I’d just like to go on the record here: I am very unhappy about being landed with babysitting duty.”

“Not a baby,” Chan grunted in response, and Seungcheol resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

There was a reason he and Hyunwoo had sent Wonwoo, Seungkwan and Minhyuk up onto those rooftops other than to be and protect the snipers. 

Even if each of them insisted they were fully recovered, their injuries had been severe enough to threaten their lives and neither Seungcheol nor Hyunwoo was prepared to risk that happening again.

Naturally, it helped that Seungkwan had phenomenal aim.

“Camera’s up,” Jihoon grumbled, still sulking from Minhyuk’s ignorant jab. “You got it, IM?”

“Yeah, I got it, and, damn, there are a lot of people in there. You sure you guys have enough ammo to take them all?”

Seungcheol glanced down at the half dozen boxes tucked snugly into his belt and the sash of casings looping around his torso, “I think we’ll be okay.”

Everything was in place. Everyone was in position. The adrenaline was flowing and anything else would just be wasting time at this point. There was no use stalling any longer.

“Okay …” Seungcheol breathed, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs for reasons he couldn’t quite identify. “Let’s do this. Jun, you ready?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Then go.”

He could do nothing more than listen to the sound of a car door opening and closing as Junhui slipped out of the van and crept through the darkness.

The anxiety of letting him go solo, even if it was for less than sixty seconds, after what had happened last time was gnawing at Seungcheol’s gut but he felt comforted with the knowledge that they were all close by and ready to come to his aid if the worst happened.

“Okay, Jun …” came Changkyun’s hum of concentration in their ears. “There are two guys guarding the rear entrance that’s just coming up on your left.”

“Gotcha.”

There were two softened _pops_ of a silenced gun, followed abruptly by the thud of bodies hitting the floor and Junhui’s slightly sadistic huff of amusement.

“Alright, IM, where do you want me to put this thing?”

“Can you see the fuse box? It should be a two feet-or-so above your head right now. If you can, get it inside but if you can’t reach that high then attach it to the wall just beneath.”

“Please,” Junhui scoffed under his breath. “You underestimate me.”

A scuffle, a muffled grunt and then a self-congratulatory grunt of, “It’s inside.”

“Not gonna ask how you did that,” Changkyun mumbled and Seungcheol couldn’t resist the smirk that quirked his lips.

At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if Junhui could climb sheer cliff faces like some kind of mountain goat or shoot webbed bungee cords from his fingers like Spiderman. If he needed to get Changkyun’s weird signal-blocking machine thing on top of the Empire State Building, he would get it on top of the fucking Empire State Building.

“Alright,” the tech sighed in relief. “The alarms are down and all cell service within a mile radius is disabled. They won’t be able to call for backup so long as that device stays where it is.”

This was it.

“Shownu?” Seungcheol murmured, glancing to his fellow leader for one final gesture of confirmation. “You ready?”

Hyunwoo’s jaw was bulging, his eyes were blazing and his gun was already in his hand. Hyungwon and Jooheon’s faces must have been flashing through his mind but that was good.

It fed his motivation. It made him dangerous and dangerous was exactly what they needed if they were going to accomplish and survive this.

“Ready.”

One final breath. In and out.

_Everyone’s going to make it. Everyone’s going to make it. Everyone’s going to make it._

“Let’s go.” 

He curled his fingers around the handle of his gun, the barrel elongated by the silencing device he’d screwed onto the end, and opened the door to dismount gracefully onto the concrete outside.

_Everyone’s going to make it. Everyone’s going to make it. Everyone’s going to make it._

He pretended he didn’t see Kihyun hook his hand around the back of Hyunwoo’s neck and pull him in for the ghost of a kiss. He pretended he wasn’t imagining the pain on their faces if – or _when_ – one of them realised they were going to have to live without the other.

Instead, he ducked out from the cover of the alleyway and, with Mingyu’s help, shot all four guards at the entrance dead. They dropped like stones, eyes satisfyingly wide and glazed as the last of the life left their bodies.

Seungcheol glanced over his shoulder at Minghao and resisted the urge to grab his hand. He didn’t want the boy to leave his sight. He wanted him to stay within arms’ reach for the duration of the entire operation but he knew he had to pull himself together.

If he was distracted then he might as well be leading them all to their deaths.

“Okay,” Hyunwoo huffed as he and Mingyu braced their shoulders against the large double doors. “On three. One, two, three!”

The two of them barged through, the varnished wood groaning in protest beneath their combined bodyweight, and then immediately ducked out of the way so the other three could obliterate the fleet of fighters who lunged at them with their eyes flashing in anger.

The chances of their attack remaining silent and stealthy until they reached Takashima were slim to none but at least for now they had the advantage of surprise. Sooner or later, someone would manage to raise the alarm so, until then, they had to murder as many as they could.

This was the only way.

The only way to ensure they would all be safe. That Minghao would be safe. That their bunker would never be attacked again. That nobody else had to die the way that Hyungwon, Mingi and Jooheon had: alone, in pain and afraid.

But, then again, isn’t that how everybody died? Alone. Even if there was someone holding your hand, you still left the world by yourself. In pain. There was no such thing as a painless death. Afraid. No matter how many times you denied it, everybody was frightened of oblivion.

“Alright, Mingyu,” Seungcheol breathed. “You’re up.”

He had to admit that he’d been worried about Mingyu. The trauma that these walls held, the memories of the agony he’d experienced at the hands of these people, would have been enough to shatter even the strongest of souls.

But Mingyu was rock solid. He didn’t even bat an eyelid or allow the slightest sliver of fear to creep through the cracks in his façade as he replaced the clip of his gun and led the way through the labyrinthine passages and up the concrete sets of stairs.

“IM …”

“Yep,” came Changkyun’s soft murmur deep within their ears. “There are eight guards on Takashima’s corridor and one person inside the office. I’m assuming that’s the man of the hour himself but you never know so be careful.”

Mingyu’s steps faltered without warning and Seungcheol glanced worriedly up at the kid’s face to see the first traces of apprehension slithering through those cracks. His eyes were slightly glassy and his Adam’s apple bobbed against his throat as he stared blankly at the door that stood in front of them.

“Mingyu?” Kihyun asked cautiously. “This isn’t the office, is it?”

It couldn’t be. They hadn’t encountered a single guard on this corridor.

“No,” Mingyu grunted, seemingly snapping out of his reverie and giving himself a visible shake to rid his mind of whatever was plaguing it. “Sorry. It’s this way.”

They kept moving, footfalls as light as they could make them and guns constantly cocked in case a trigger needed to be pulled at a split second’s notice but Seungcheol couldn’t help throwing one last look over his shoulder at that door.

What was behind it that would make Mingyu freeze like that? 

“Coups,” Joshua called from the other end of the comms. “We’re done down here.”

Seungcheol frowned, “Already?”

There was a pause, stretching on slightly too long for Seungcheol’s liking before Junhui’s voice cut in.

“We couldn’t save any of them.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kihyun murmured, raking a hand through his hair, and Seungcheol was inclined to agree.

According to Changkyun, there had been multiple people in that basement dungeon and none of them were salvageable? None of them had even the slimmest chance of survival? What kind of sick and twisted things had they been put through before Joshua and Junhui put them out of their misery?

And had Mingyu endured those exact same things? It was a testament to the boy’s strength and resilience that he was still even alive, let alone leading an assault on the people who had kept him chained up and tortured like he wasn’t even human.

“Vernon, Hoshi and Wonho are securing the bombs to the supporting beams,” Joshua continued, sounding slightly breathless as though he were running up a flight of stairs. “Jun and I are on our way up to you.”

Seungcheol wished he could say they didn’t need the backup but he wasn’t exactly sure anymore. Takashima was brutal in the most barbaric and animalistic fashion and he was certainly intelligent. They couldn’t afford to underestimate him.

Unbeknownst to them, however, that was exactly what they’d done.

“Here,” Mingyu hissed from ahead. “It’s up … What the fuck?”

Brow furrowing in concerned suspicion, Seungcheol stepped past him and felt his eyes automatically narrowing at the sight that lay before him.

“IM,” he whispered. “You know when you said there were eight guards on the corridor?”

“Yeah … What is it?”

“You failed to mention that they were all dead.”

All of them, slumped against the walls with their legs splayed and their faces drained of colour. Smears of blood led snail trails down the plaster to where the bodies lay and the respective lakes of scarlet they were wallowing in were still steadily growing.

They couldn’t have been killed more than five minutes ago.

“I don’t like this …” Hyunwoo mumbled, stepping gingerly over a bloody leg and grimacing down at the bullet hole in its owner’s chest. “What the hell happened here? Did he kill his own people?”

Seungcheol wouldn’t put it past him. Takashima would probably gut his own mother if he was paid enough. The only question was why the hell would he do something so reckless when he was under attack?

“There’s still someone in the office,” Changkyun huffed out, his words peppered with the speedy tap of computer keys. “But they’re not moving either. Be careful, guys. Shua and Jun ran into some trouble on the second floor so you’re gonna be on our own for a while longer.”

Seungcheol nodded, more to himself than anything, especially since Changkyun couldn’t see him. There was something not right about this and he had no way of knowing what it was.

Then, without warning, there was a horrific screeching sound in his ear and his hand instinctively leapt up to try and shield his auditory system from collapsing with the force of the sonic blast.

“Fuck …” Minghao hissed as each of them ripped the devices from their skulls to prevent their brains from exploding. “What happens?”

Nobody answered him because nobody knew. Apprehension peaking, Seungcheol cautiously tried to reinsert his earpiece now that the piercing shriek seemed to have been replaced by the hum of static.

“IM?” he checked, but there was no reply. “Shua? Hoshi? Minhyuk? Wonwoo?”

Nothing.

Shit.

“The comms are down,” Kihyun concluded from behind him and Seungcheol felt the unpleasant sensation of his stomach flipping upside down as the realisation came to him.

The bodies were a decoy. A distraction. He should have seen it earlier. Now their method of communication had been disabled and they had no way of knowing what was happening outside their field of vision.

“They know we’re here,” he cursed as panic began to flare. “They knew from the start. We have to go –”

He barely had time to shape the final syllable on his lips before there was a soft clatter to his left and the peculiar rattle of something cylindrical and metallic rolling across the floor. And he knew what it was going to be before he even looked.

“Get down!”

The ground shook with the force of the explosion and Seungcheol almost felt his eardrums bursting as sparks flared in front of his face and the concrete rushed up to meet him before he could even comprehend what was happening.

The smoke was crawling down his throat and up his nostrils and he couldn’t tell whether his eyes were open or closed since the only thing he could see was brilliant white light. His ears were ringing with a high-pitched whine and his entire body felt like it had been turned to jelly.

His gun had left his hand and he tried to grope for it but his fingers clasped around thin air. His body flopped uselessly, refusing to obey his order to roll over and push himself up onto his knees before a bullet could ricochet through his ribcage.

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t see. He had no idea where the others were and if they were in a similar predicament. The bright white light was starting to fade but his vision was still wrought with shapeless shadows and edgeless images.

His head rolled to the side, a stuttered wheeze clawing its way up his bruised throat, and saw the fuzzy outline of two polished dress shoes stomping across the floor towards him.

Syllables rolled around his head, disintegrating the moment they tried to touch the wave of sonic screaming bouncing off the walls of his skull. Somebody was speaking to him but he had no idea what they were saying or even who they were as a hand closed around his jaw and tilted his face upwards.

“… H … llo … oups …”


	27. Beg...

The worst part was the smell. Not the pain, not the temporary blindness or the shrill whistle accosting his eardrums. The smell. It was a toxic combination of gunpowder, burning rubber and the suffocating stench of a very bad choice in cologne.

The breath had been knocked out of him when he’d hit the floor, ribs groaning and head throbbing as it rolled limply on his shoulders. Edges were gradually becoming finer, corners becoming sharper, colours detaching themselves from one another but it was all too blurry.

His throat was clogged from the effort of breathing, his eyes were streaming from the sting of the smoke and Takashima’s leering face was the first thing to come into view as the effects of the stun grenade slowly began to subside. 

His assailant was crouched at his side, elbows resting laxly atop his knees and a twisted sneer of satisfaction stretching over his stubbled chin, and Seungcheol couldn’t remember ever seeing a person so ugly.

“Fuck you,” he choked, voice raw and scratchy and pitifully weak.

Takashima just laughed, glancing up at whichever guards were gathered around him so that they could share in his sociopathic glee and in Seungcheol’s pained helplessness as his body continued to refuse his commands.

“I must admit, Coups,” came the drawl from above him, still foggy and distant through the aftershock of the explosion. “I expected better from you. So, so much better. But, then again, how could I ever show my face in public if I allowed myself to be outsmarted by a bunch of children?”

Seungcheol ignored him, unwilling to lie there and listen to this clichéd monologue of degradation and arrogance, and desperate to check on the wellbeing of his team. He could hear a few scuffles from somewhere to his left but, other than that, silence.

They could already be dead.

Shoving the thought aside, he braced his crooked elbow against the polished floorboards and pushed himself onto his stomach. His stunned and aching joints whined in reproachful agony and he felt like his eyes were about to burst out of his head but that didn’t matter.

Not now that he could see the glint of his gun’s sleek flank sitting just a few feet from his face, waiting to be grabbed so it could bury a bullet in this bastard’s big-headed body.

There was movement in the corner of his eye but he surpassed it in favour of planting one forearm in front of the other, army crawling his way towards the only thing that could save his and his kids’ lives right now.

“Hey,” Takashima called with the tone of an offended child. “Where you going? I’m not done talking to you.”

Seungcheol bit back the urge to growl another expletive and lunged for the weapon but before he could feel cool steel at his fingertips, Takashima’s shoe sent his last hope skittering away from him.

“Now, now, Coups. Play nice and I may even let you die quickly.”

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have believed that, with Takashima’s empire of cash and technology, they would be able to sneak into the building unnoticed? How could he have led them into such a lethal and obvious ambush?

And where were the others? His comms system was useless and he could barely find the strength to turn his head and search for them. Had they caught Joshua and Junhui, too? Found Wonho, Soonyoung and Hansol in the basement? Captured the snipers on the roof?

“Upsie-daisies,” came the cheery chirp just before a set of thick fingers twisted themselves into his hair and wrenched upwards.

Seungcheol scrambled to his knees in order to save his scalp from being peeled off his skull, reaching up with both hands to dig his fingernails into Takashima’s wrist with merciless ferocity.

“Ooh,” was all the response he received. “Kitty’s got her claws out, huh?”

Seungcheol opened his mouth to retaliate but before he could even think up an appropriately spiteful insult, the grip on his hair was released and a bodiless fist buried itself deep into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs in one fell swoop.

Legs still numb, head still throbbing, he doubled over on his knees, completely powerless to prevent both his arms from being wrestled behind his back and secured with the unmistakable razor-sharp plastic of zipties that made quick work of cutting off his circulation. 

Gasping, he heaved his body upright before anyone else could try and pull his hair and, as his eyes naturally scanned the layout before him, he felt his breaths crease, crack and crumble on the tip of his tongue.

Minghao was in a chokehold, face wrinkled with discomfort and hands trying and failing to pry the grasp from around his neck as he shuffled and squirmed on his knees in an attempt to slither free.

Mingyu and Hyunwoo were being restrained by two guards each, arms forced out to the sides by the iron grips on their wrists and backs made to straighten by the flat palms that pushed up against their shoulder blades.

But while Mingyu was compliantly sitting on his knees, head hanging and breaths ragged as sweat dripped from his fringe and his mind revisited the memories of his torture at the hands of these people, Hyunwoo was the source of the scuffling Seungcheol had heard.

He was fighting tooth and nail to get free, superhuman strength barely being contained by the two gargantuan henchmen on either side of him, but the expression on his face wasn’t anger or defiance or a thirst for revenge. It was fear.

Because Kihyun was still lying on the ground, blood trickling down the side of his face and congealing in his hair, eyelids not even twitching. Apparently, he’d been the closest to the site of detonation and seeing him unconscious and injured with absolutely no way of protecting himself was driving Hyunwoo to the brink of insanity.

“Ah …” Takashima sighed, striding confidently forwards and nudging Kihyun with his toe specifically for the purpose of seeing Hyunwoo’s anguish. “Young love. Such a beautiful thing, don’t you think?”

“LET ME GO!” Hyunwoo roared, struggle strengthening at the taunting.

He reminded Seungcheol of a wounded animal. Cornered, helpless, desperate and lashing out because violence was the only way it knew how to defend itself and its family. Kihyun was his world and Seungcheol might have just gotten him murdered.

“Stay away from him,” he hissed with as much venom as he could muster up from his position on his knees with his hands going numb behind him. “He has nothing to do with this.”

“You’re right,” Takashima mused, crouching down beside his prisoner and flashing him a placid smile as he gestured towards the chop shop members. “He’s boring. The both of them are.” 

And then he looked up and said with a tone as cool as ice, “Kill them.”

“NO!” both Seungcheol and Hyunwoo screamed at the same time, accompanied by Minghao’s strangled whimper of despair and Mingyu’s stuttered intake of breath.

Ignoring the distinct sensation of nothingness below his knees, Seungcheol tried to scramble to his feet even if he knew the likelihood of him being able to do anything was slim to none, but two sets of hands clamped down on his shoulders and forced him back down.

“Don’t fucking touch him!”

It had no effect. The last remaining guard stepped forwards, raised his gun and pointed it at Kihyun’s motionless body with every intention of pulling the trigger before Hyunwoo did something that Seungcheol had never seen another human being do.

Each of his captors were the same size as him or bigger and yet he tore his arms from their hold as if they were made of nothing but tissue paper and sent them both thudding to the ground within less than a second.

Eyes wide with surprise, the gunman spun around to face the new threat. The barrel came up just as Hyunwoo threw himself forwards but the first shot didn’t even falter his stride and, before anybody could react, the weapon was out of his hand and his neck was twisted like a pretzel.

For a split second, Seungcheol wondered if his friend had somehow made himself bulletproof overnight but then he saw that huge hulk of a man stumble and fall.

His knees hit the ground first, gun slipping from his grasp as his mouth dropped open and his hands came out to clutch at the gushing wound in his stomach. He raised his head, met Seungcheol’s gaze and then pitched forwards, mighty body coming to rest with a thud right beside Kihyun with one arm slung over his boyfriend’s chest.

Protective to the end.

“No …” Seungcheol whispered, feeling himself sag against his restraints even as a hand closed around his jaw and prevented him from looking anywhere other than his lifeless friends. “No …”

“Well,” Takashima interjected, kicking his own henchman’s body aside as he stooped to pick up the dropped gun. “That was a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“Bastard!” Minghao screamed, tears rolling off the tip of his nose and skeletal body bucking against the man who held him. “You want me! You kill me! Not them!”

Seungcheol couldn’t draw breath. He told himself it was due to the possible rib fractures that accosted his chest and lungs but, deep down, he knew it was shock. Devastation. Grief.

He’d just watched someone else die. Someone who should have lived. Someone who should have been able to go home to his people and put his arms around his boyfriend. Hyunwoo shouldn’t have had to go like that. No one should have to go like that.

Wiping the bloodied gun on a handkerchief he magically procured from his pocket, Takashima stepped over the intertwined bodies as if they were nothing more than a piece of luggage that had been left carelessly in the middle of the hallway, and knelt before his next victim: Mingyu.

Seungcheol could barely even bring himself to keep his eyes open. The guards’ fingers were pinching the skin of his armpits as his body continued to try and drag itself towards the floor. As his mind tried to shut down in an attempt to protect itself from the knowledge of what it had done.

Minghao was still sobbing, still struggling, but that was background noise. Takashima was talking to Mingyu, crooning at him and petting his hair like a dog, but that was background noise, too.

The only thing that wasn’t was the silence emanating from Hyunwoo and Kihyun’s bodies.

“So, he’s who you ran off to,” Takashima was purring, fingers fastened on Mingyu’s chin in an attempt to keep his head up and their eyes locked. “I’m surprised at you, Min. I thought you were smarter than that. I thought that our training had gotten through to you.”

Mingyu was resolutely avoiding eye contact, something Seungcheol had never seen him do before. From the moment he’d met the kid, he’d been fierce and feisty. Fear hadn’t even appeared to be in his dictionary but that was exactly what he was displaying now.

Whatever Takashima had done to him and however long he’d done it for, it had taken one hell of a toll. Mingyu was positively beside himself with terror, even if he was trying so desperately to keep his breaths even and his heartrate lowered.

He must know what was coming to him. He was no stranger to torture but Seungcheol was fairly certain that whatever he’d experienced before would be nothing compared to what he would experience now.

If he was capable of feeling anything other than numbness, his heart would have bled for the boy. He would have tried to defend him, tried to fight back and break free so he could get them all out of here.

But he’d just watched another one of his friends die right in front of him.

“You know what happens when you break the rules, right?” Takashima continued, tapping his fingers tantalisingly against Mingyu’s jawline and taking pleasure in the way the boy started to shake in his restraints. “Well, whatever you think I’m going to do to you … It’s gonna be worse.”

He straightened up, leaving Mingyu panting on his knees and trembling all over as he addressed the two trolls that held him still.

“Take him down to the red room and get him ready. I’ll join you once I’m done here.”

It was like somebody had flipped a switch.

Mingyu’s head shot up, eyes terrifyingly bulbous and face shockingly pale as he did everything in his limited power to prevent the guards from dragging him to his feet.

“No!” he begged, digging his heels into the floor and shaking his head frantically from side to side even though he must know it was useless. “No! Please! Please! Please!”

He knew what was waiting for him in that room, even if Seungcheol didn’t. He knew what his insubordination and his betrayal meant for him, even if Seungcheol never would. But it didn’t take a genius to make an educated guess.

In their world, treason was punishable by death. A slow, excruciatingly painful death that could last for hours or even days until the poor unfortunate soul was begging to feel the barrel of gun against their temple and, if Takashima’s reputation succeeded him, he was going to make it hurt like no other.

Yet another tragedy that Seungcheol had caused. He didn’t have to drag Mingyu into this fight but he’d done so out of his own selfish desire to settle a personal vendetta and now the kid was going to die one of the most gruesome deaths known to man.

“Ungrateful little bitch,” Takashima muttered under his breath, as though Mingyu was nothing more than a disobedient teenager who’d stolen his father’s wallet to buy drugs. “After I put all that effort into him.” 

Mingyu’s pleas followed him even after he’d been hauled out of sight, screams echoing in his wake as he was wrestled and manhandled towards the four walls in which he would die, and that was when Seungcheol realised it was only him and Minghao left.

And Minghao was the target. Which meant that Seungcheol’s time was up.

“Hao,” Takashima sighed, folding his hands over his stomach as he came to a stop in front of Minghao’s tear-streaked face. “It’s been a long time. I spent an awful lot of resources on ensuring that we’d get to see each other again.”

Minghao spat on his shoes, instantly raising his head to give the monster his most withering glare of hatred and defiance, but the only reaction it elicited was a soft chuckle from Takashima and a smack to the back of the head from the guard restraining him.

“Still got that spunk. I’m glad. I was worried that consorting with the likes of  _ that  _ would turn you soft.”

He jerked his head in Seungcheol’s direction without even sparing the leader a glance. It was the ultimate degrading action. Humiliating and demeaning and dehumanising and exactly the kind of thing that ignited a fire in a Choi’s gut.

“Fuck you!” Minghao hissed, clawing at the tightening arm around his throat with a wince of pain. “You kill babies! You murderer!”

“Yes,” Takashima nodded with mock sorrow. “I remember that day very clearly, Minghao. Even now, I’ve never seen a child with such talent. You’re a born fighter, kid. It was such a shame that you didn’t just come with me when I asked nicely. Maybe then I wouldn’t have had to resort to such measures.”

“You slaughter my family!” Minghao screamed, tears of fury gliding down his cheeks at the sight of Takashima’s smirk. “My sister only three years old! You kill them in front of me! I hate you! I never go with you! I never obey you!”

His words not only sparked pride in the depths of Seungcheol’s heart but they added fuel to the fire that was steadily growing throughout his body.

The ties on his wrists were too tight to break or wriggle out of but he was still one hell of a fighter even without the use of his hands. It was something his father had been adamant he learn from the age of eleven, just in case he ever had to fight his way out of a situation just like this one.

His gut clenched unpleasantly at the thought of that man but he pushed it down. He had to wait. Slouching in this position was effectively lulling the guards into a false sense of security, allowing them to believe that he was defeated and pliable. Any moment now, one of them was going to need to scratch his nose or something and then … Heaven help them.

“Oh, I know,” Takashima whispered, all traces of civility dissipating as he leaned forwards with nothing but sadistic pleasure flashing in his eyes. “But here’s something you might not know about me, Minghao: I like to play with my food before I eat it.”

Seungcheol wasn’t prepared for the hands to suddenly haul him forwards until he and Minghao were kneeling directly opposite each other and he certainly wasn’t prepared for the knife that suddenly ghosted over his carotid.

From his newfound position, it was impossible to miss the horror that dawned in Minghao’s expression as he realised what was about to happen and there was no way he could fight back when there was a blade literally millimetres from bleeding him dry.

The grip on his shoulders had tightened, too, effectively paralysing him to the spot. The centrepiece in Takashima’s grand finale.

“You know how this works, don’t you, Minghao?” the Japanese man started, tracing the tip of his knife over the ridges in Seungcheol’s trachea. “I could make this very quick, virtually painless, but I prefer to take my time. I prefer to listen to the gargling sounds of somebody drowning in their own blood.”

Minghao was shaking his head, eyes locked on Seungcheol’s as the leader tried to tell him without words that it was okay, that he was figuring out a way to get them out of this, that he wasn’t about to get his throat slit right in front of him.

He had to think of something. An escape plan that would allow him to gain the upper hand without putting Minghao in danger.

Where the fuck were Joshua and Junhui? Were they dead? Killed on their way up here? And Mingyu … How was he going to find Mingyu? He wasn’t prepared to search every room in this goddamn establishment. He had to somehow get Hyunwoo and Kihyun's bodies out of here, too.

It wasn’t possible.

“Don’t …” Minghao choked, voice barely over a whisper. “Don’t … Please …”

“Oh, now he begs,” Takashima snorted, pressing the tip of the blade into the dimple between Seungcheol’s collarbones until blood started to bead around the silver. “Do it again, Hao. Say ‘please’ and I might let him go.”

“Don’t you dare,” Seungcheol ground out. “Hao, don’t you fucking dare.”

Minghao was not going to beg this man. Not for Seungcheol, not for himself, not for anyone. Even if the tears were cascading down his cheeks in endless torrents, he was not going to beg this man for a single thing.

“Please …”

“Minghao …”

“Please …” Minghao repeated, an edge of warning slipping into his tone as he shot Seungcheol a steely glare. “Please … Sir, please … Please don’t hurt him …”

If it were possible, Seungcheol would have burst into flames right then and there such was the fury that ignited every cell of his body.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Takashima quipped, retracting the weapon and giving it an experimental twirl between his fingers.

Seungcheol saw Minghao visibly relax.

And then: “I’ll let you do it.”

It felt like a wave of ice-cold water had just been dunked over the both of them, neither capable of uttering even a single word as Takashima took Minghao’s hand and pressed the hilt of the knife into his small palm.

“You’re sick,” Seungcheol finally managed to spit out. “You’re a fucking psychopath.”

“I … I won’t …” Minghao gasped, unable to drop the weapon due to the presence of Takashima’s hand on top of his, keeping his fingers curled around the handle. “I won’t do it … No … Stop!”

“You asked me not to hurt him, so I won’t. You will.”

“You fucking bastard!” Seungcheol roared, throwing all his bodyweight against the guards behind him in an attempt to scramble away only to be forcefully cemented back in place by their unforgiving vices. “You can’t do this!”

“On the contrary, Coups. I can and I –”

His snide remark was cut short by the stumble of badly coordinated feet followed by a thump, a ridiculously loud curse and then the rather clumsy arrival of Joshua and Junhui at the end of the hallway.

Neither of them looked particularly good: both bruised and bleeding from various minor wounds on their bodies, but there were beaming grins on their faces that instantly slipped away the moment they processed the scene before them.

“Oh,” Junhui said, as though surprised by the sight of his team members kneeling in front of each other with a knife aimed at his leader’s throat.

Seungcheol just stared at them, incredulous. Wondering how the hell they could be acting so stupid in a situation like this. Were they drunk? High? Concussed? Or had they just generally lost the plot?

“They seem to be in the middle of something,” Junhui whispered awkwardly, leaning over to murmur – very loudly – in Joshua’s ear. “And I think we might be disturbing them.”

“Yeah,” Joshua whispered back, just as loudly. “We should go. I don’t like the way those two are looking at me.”

He pointed at the goons that were flanking Seungcheol’s kneeling figure before both he and Junhui dropped into solemn bows of apology and started shuffling back towards the stairwells until they disappeared altogether.

Needless to say … What the fuck?

“Go!” Takashima ordered, clearly just as confused as the rest of them as he ordered one of the guys behind Seungcheol to give chase. “Fucking go, you prick!”

The man looked visibly affronted and even a little lost for a couple of seconds before sprinting off down the hallway and ducking around the corner.

There was a sort of slicing squelching sound from out of sight followed abruptly by a very loud thud and then Junhui strode calmly back into view, proudly brandishing the guard’s severed head by the hair.

“Catch of the day!” he crowed triumphantly. “I’ve always wanted to try fishing! All we need now is a  _ duck _ , right, Coups?”

Seungcheol threw himself face first into the ground, already-bruised ribs groaning from the impact as the bullet whizzed over his head and embedded itself in his second guard’s skull.

Without wasting a single second, he rolled onto his back and used the momentum to push himself to his feet before darting out of the way as Joshua and Junhui attacked from either end of the hallway.

Joshua must have somehow circled around to approach from the other side.

Still with Takashima’s knife in his hand, Minghao lunged for his leader and sliced straight through the zipties, freeing Seungcheol’s arms from the horribly cramped position and leaving him available to catch the gun that Joshua tossed him.

Minghao’s guard was already on the floor, eyes wide and staring, and Takashima was lying flat on his back with Junhui’s knife driven so deep into the meat of his shoulder that it effectively pinned him to the varnished wooden panels like a butterfly in a frame.

“Okay,” Seungcheol yelled over the sound of the gangster’s pained grunts. “What the fuck did you two just do?”

Junhui blinked at him, “You’re welcome.”

Seungcheol was spared having to think up an appropriate retort by Joshua’s concerned call of, “Coups!” from behind them.

He and Minghao were kneeling on the ground, having rolled Hyunwoo onto his back to reveal much less blood than Seungcheol would have expected for someone who’d received a shot to the stomach.

Trusting Junhui to keep an eye on their irritatingly noisy prisoner, he joined them at his friends’ sides just in time to see Joshua lift Hyunwoo’s shirt and trigger a pretty massive coughing fit from the man himself.

“You’re alive,” Seungcheol blurted in stunned disbelief before Hyunwoo let out a very loud groan and brought both hands up to clutch at his abdomen.

“Stay still,” Joshua instructed him, tugging a wad of gauze from the pack he’d strapped to his waist and clamping it down on top of the wound. “The bullet hit your belt. It didn’t go nearly as deep as it could have done so you’re one lucky bastard.”

Seungcheol had to take a moment to bury his face in his hands, to take a breath and to remind himself that he couldn’t afford to crumble right now.

He’d thought Hyunwoo was dead but he’d just been unconscious. He’d thought Takashima was about to force Minghao to kill him but then in had bumbled the dumbo twins with some crackpot ambush strategy that never should have worked and yet somehow did.

And they had Takashima pinned down. Literally.

“Kihyun …” Hyunwoo wheezed, trying to battle his body into a sitting position against Joshua’s protests. “Kihyun …”

“Here,” Minghao said softly from where he had Kihyun’s head cradled in his lap, fingers steadily carding through the bloodied tangles. “He breathe good. Just sleeping.”

Seungcheol could have cried. He almost did. He probably would have if he hadn’t remembered that there was still a shit tonne of work to do and lives to confirm.

“You,” he growled, pushing himself up and stalking over to where Takashima was still writhing on the ground, desperately and fruitlessly trying to wrench the knife out of his shoulder.

It would be so easy to stomp on his throat right here, right now. It would be so easy to wrench that blade out and plunge it into his heart. It would be so fucking easy to take the bastard’s own gun and put a bullet between his bulging bloodshot eyes. 

This man was the cause of everything.

The execution of Minghao’s family, whatever had happened to Junhui, the corruption of Seungcheol’s clan and potentially even the murder of his mother and the assault on Leeteuk. And the deaths of three of Seungcheol’s closest friends.

But he’d made a promise all those months ago in an empty bar.

It took every ounce of self-restraint he possessed but he still choked out the words, “The8 … He’s all yours,” without taking his eyes off his nemesis’ spluttering form. 

He felt Minghao’s hand on his shoulder pushing him back and he complied, retreating until he was well out of the way of the little Chinese ninja. He watched that boy – the same boy who’d embarked on a suicide mission on the night before his sixteenth birthday – crouch down beside Takashima’s head with his expression sphynx-like. 

“You gonna kill me?” the man wheezed with a breathless chortle. “You gonna slit my throat? You gonna let me choke on my own blood just like your family did?”

Disgusting. That was the only word for it. 

Seungcheol started forwards, perfectly willing to rip Takashima apart with his bare hands but Minghao threw out an arm to signal that he stay back and the leader obeyed, albeit reluctantly.

Minghao had dedicated his hauntingly short life to finding this guy and avenging his family. He deserved to do this alone.

“This for mama,” he hissed with a tone that was eerily calm for somebody whose eyes were blazing with such intense fury. “This for papa and gege and my baby sister. This for Mingi, for Jooheon, for Hyungwon.”

He wrapped his stick-like fingers around the knife in Takashima’s shoulder and wrenched it out with a grotesque squelching sound, eliciting a wail of agony from the monster himself.

“And this also for me.”

The blade came plunging back down and, just like that, it was over.


	28. Get The Fuck Out Of Dodge

Seungcheol waited for a couple of seconds, just long enough to watch the blood pooling beneath Takashima’s body and trickling through the indentations in the varnished wood, before he forced himself back into the mindset of a leader.

“Hoshi?” he asked, directing the one-word question up at Junhui.

“As far as we know, still in the basement. He and Wonho should have been able to hold off an attack long enough for Vernon to secure the explosives. They should be done any minute now.”

Seungcheol nodded but his concern wasn’t affected in the slightest. Without the use of the comms, he had no way of knowing what was going on, who was hurt or who might need support. He couldn’t tell them to evacuate either and considering Hansol was strapping a bomb to the supporting beams, that was a fairly major risk factor.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

“I’m back, baby!” came the screech in his ear, loud and sudden enough to catch Seungcheol off guard but once he recognised the owner of the voice, his face split into a grin.

“Nice to hear from you, I.M.”

“Minhyuk and Woozi helped me deactivate the signal blocker they had in place so I’m back online. How are my boys?”

Seungcheol glanced over at where Hyunwoo had managed to fend off Joshua’s administrations and was currently shuffling Kihyun into a more comfortable position against his chest, wincing every time his wound was jostled.

They would need to get that bullet out of him but, for the time being, the bleed had stopped and Kihyun’s eyelids were starting to flutter weakly as consciousness slowly returned to him.

“Your parents are hurt,” Junhui cut in and Seungcheol winced at the blunt mockery. “But they’ll live so long as we get them out of here.”

“We’re fine, I.M,” Hyunwoo managed to ground out, reaching up with a hand that wasn’t clutching Kihyun to his chest so he could wipe a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Have you heard from Wonho?”

“We’re here.”

The relief at the sound of Soonyoung’s voice over the comms was paramount.

“The explosives are set,” the boy continued. “Vernon says we’ll have exactly three minutes to get out once he activates them.”

Seungcheol nodded even though he knew Soonyoung couldn’t see him.

“Don’t do it yet. Wonho, we’re on the top floor. Can you come meet us? We’re going to need your help evacuating Shownu and Kihyun. Hoshi, stay in the basement with Vernon until I give you the green light and then both of you get the hell out of there, okay?”

“Gotcha.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Jun, The8, stay with these two until Wonho gets here, carry them downstairs and then take one of the cars. Don’t look back, just get them to DK and I.M. Minhyuk, Wonwoo, stay where you are and keep a lookout for us. Shua, come with me. We have to find Mingyu.” 

Even though their leader was dead, Takashima’s people were still running wild in this building and since their loyalty had been beaten into them over the course of years’ worth of conditioning, they weren’t going to give up without one hell of a fight.

The only way to take them all out and also erase any evidence that they were here was to blow up the entire building but they couldn’t do that until the injured were safe and they had Mingyu back.

God knows where he was and what was happening to him right now but Takashima had implied that he wanted to be the one to carry out the punishment so, at least for now, their boy should be alive and relatively unharmed.

“Let’s go,” Seungcheol ordered, checking the chamber of his gun and beckoning Joshua to follow him only to be stopped by a curt cry.

“Wait.”

For the last several minutes, Minghao had been staring blankly at Takashima’s body as if he was too stunned to look away but now the knife was back in his hand and the fire was back in his eyes.

“I come with you.”

Seungcheol opened his mouth to argue but was cut off almost immediately.

“I won’t leave Mingyu.”

There would be no convincing him otherwise. Whatever relationship the two of them had formed over the past few weeks was stronger than anybody could have predicted and Seungcheol knew for a fact that, if it was Joshua who was missing, he would do the same.

“Jun, you got this?”

“I got this.”

“Then come on, The8.” 

He didn’t feel too confident leaving two injured people with only Junhui for protection but then he reminded himself that it was Junhui and it was a lot easier to leave them there as he, Joshua and Minghao sprinted down the stairs two at a time.

“I.M!” he shouted, firing a shot at a moving shadow in the hallway. “Where’s Mingyu?”

“His tracker says he’s one floor below you but you’ve got multiple hostiles between you and him and all of them are moving towards you.”

Seungcheol faltered for the briefest second, wondering if he should turn around and go back for Junhui and the others before they could be bombarded with more manpower than they could handle but then he remembered Mingyu’s face when Takashima had said those words: ‘the red room’.

There was no way he was leaving him there a second longer.

“Wonho?” he cried out, ducking behind a table when several bullets pierced the wall just above his head. “How close are you?”

“I’m almost there.”

“Jun?”

“I’m handling it!”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Wonwoo rumbled through the device in their ears. “But we have six black SUVs pulling up outside and something tells me they’re not here for a friendly chat. Someone must have raised the alarm.”

Seungcheol cursed under his breath and glanced across the corridor to where Joshua and Minghao were both crouched out of sight, taking it in turns to stick their heads into the firing line and take a few shots at the gunmen attacking them.

They were too few in numbers. Hyunwoo and Kihyun were hurt and, by now, Mingyu might be, too. He didn’t want to risk calling Wonwoo, Seungkwan or Minhyuk in when they were injured themselves and also responsible for protecting Chan and Jihoon.

He could get Hansol to set the bombs off. That would take out the posse of henchmen that had just arrived but there was no guarantee that they’d be able to get to Mingyu in time.

They were as good as dead.

“Shownu, can you walk?”

He could literally hear the exhaustion and blood loss in Hyunwoo’s voice even as he croaked a weak yet determined, “yes”. It wasn’t believable even for one second but they were running out of options.

“Start moving, the three of you. Don’t take any unnecessary risks but get as far as you can until Wonho reaches you. Go now.”

He was having to yell over the gunfire and the grunts from those whom his bullets were hitting but Junhui gave a shout of confirmation nonetheless and Seungcheol could only hope to God that Wonho reached them quickly.

“Wonwoo, Minhyuk, all of you get off the roof and start two of the cars. Wait for us for as long as you can but if we’re not out in ten minutes, just go. Vernon, get ready to detonate.”

“That’s the last one!” Joshua hollered as the cacophony finally sputtered to a halt.

“There are more coming up the stairs!” I.M warned them. “You need to move now. Mingyu’s in the room at the end of the hallway.” 

Seungcheol didn’t wait to be told twice. He scrambled up off the floor and bolted, Joshua and Minghao right behind him, far too aware of the approaching stampede of footsteps from the floor below as he reloaded his gun.

“Stop. It’s that one.”

He skidded on the spot at Changkyun’s command and took in the sight of the door that stood in front of him: the same door Mingyu had been staring at with such apprehension when they’d first arrived. At least now he knew why.

Unsure what he was expecting to see on the other side but knowing he was running on borrowed time already, he shot a meaningful glance over his shoulder at Joshua and kicked the door open.

He immediately understood why they called it the red room.

There was blood everywhere. Smeared on the walls and the floor, splattered over every surface, scarlet handprints scorched into the concrete. It couldn’t have ever been cleaned and some of the stains looked to be at least a couple of months old.

Chains were hanging from the ceiling, thick and black. Some had manacles secured to the ends, perfect for stringing someone up so their feet couldn’t touch the floor, and some had huge hooks with razor-sharp points at the ends of smooth curves.

Seungcheol didn’t want to know exactly what those were for but he could have sworn that he saw a couple of chunks of severed flesh speared on the ends of a few of them.

The only source of illumination was a gigantic spotlight set up in one corner of the ceiling, a white hot heat radiating off its unprotected bulb and engulfing the room in a suffocating kind of humidity.

A table of torture instruments was shunted up against the wall, each one more bloody and gruesome-looking than the next and some of them even rusted just to add to the pain and the risk of infection they would inflict upon their victims.

And in the middle of it all, kneeling on the floor with his hands chained behind his back, shaking from head to toe was Mingyu.

The tattered remnants of his shirt were lying in the corner, leaving his chest bare and exposing every one of his scars to the open air. There was a thick black cloth tied around his eyes and a stiff leather strap covering his mouth, buckled so tightly at the back of his head that it was cutting into his skin.

There were two guards with him; the same ones that had dragged him away from Seungcheol in that corridor, and each of them had a smirk of sick satisfaction on their hideous faces.

One was holding a hose, its metallic nozzle still dripping as Mingyu’s sopping wet body shivered in the wake of its torture, sodden hair plastered to his forehead. And the other was crouching at his side, breathing right into his ear as he whispered a string of sultry threats that had the boy’s shoulders heaving in terror.

At Seungcheol’s entrance, however, they both glanced up. They were still grinning, most likely expecting the arrival of Takashima, but those grins slid right off their faces at the sight of who stood before them.

The first one dropped the hose with a hiss of, “motherfu –” but Joshua had put a bullet in his head before he could even finish. The second one reached for his gun but Seungcheol put him down in the space of a heartbeat.

“Lock the door,” he growled over his shoulder, stuffing his gun back into his belt and striding forwards.

He didn’t want anyone bursting in on them while they were distracted.

Mingyu’s head was down, naked shoulders hunched, lungs drawing in huge rattling breaths as he tried to quell the terror that was building inside of him. Without the use of his sight, he wouldn’t be able to tell who had just burst in and what had happened to the people who’d been tormenting him.

Seungcheol received a painful reminder of that fact when he reached out to lay a hand on the boy’s shoulder and triggered a massively violent flinch in response.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed as Minghao dropped to his knees beside them. “It’s me. It’s Coups.”

He wasn’t sure if Mingyu could even hear him such was the volume of his hyperventilation.

“It’s Seungcheol, Mingyu. We’re gonna get you out, okay?”

Mingyu didn’t stop trying to edge away from every touch, however, until Minghao managed to unknot the blindfold and toss it aside. His eyes were swollen and shimmering with tears that started to fall as soon as he managed to identify the foreign features in front of him.

“Me,” Minghao said softly, planting his hands on either side of Mingyu’s dripping face. “Safe. I keep you safe.”

Seungcheol felt the faintest glow of warmth deep in the pit of his stomach as Minghao’s words drew a tentative nod from the slowly-calming boy kneeling in the middle of a torture chamber.

Whatever bond those two shared was too beautiful for words.

Joshua slid across the ground with the key to the chains in his hand and instantly started working on freeing Mingyu’s hands as Seungcheol unbuckled the leather strap from around his mouth.

It fell away, revealing indentations in the raw flesh circling his lips and beneath his ears, and Mingyu instantly gasped for air like a fish out of water as Minghao continued to cradle his face in his hands and whisper soft reassurances.

“Ta … Taka …”

“Takashima dead,” Minghao murmured, and there was a kind of icy edge to his voice. Maybe it was acceptance, maybe it was relief and maybe it was neither but it was still good. “Takashima never hurt us again.”

Joshua finally defeated the rusted lock and the shackles clattered to the floor, eliciting a sharp inhale from their prisoner as his shoulders were released from the unforgiving strain of having both his arms twisted so tightly behind his back.

Seungcheol wished he had a spare shirt to give him but they couldn’t exactly afford any luxuries when there was still an army to fight through and a bomb that needed to detonate.

“Jun, update me!” he demanded as Joshua and Minghao helped Mingyu to his feet. “Where are you?”

“First floor,” came the breathless reply. “We’re almost out.”

“Minhyuk?”

“Ready and waiting.”

“You’ve got over fifty people right outside your door, Coups,” Changkyun informed them, inhaling sharply through his teeth. “You’d better have one hell of an escape plan here.”

Mingyu, Minghao and Joshua were all looking at him. Waiting. Trusting. Laying their lives in his hands. Most of his team was already or almost safe. There was no reason to stall any longer.

“Vernon?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Detonate the bombs and get the fuck out of dodge.”

“Yes, Boss. Three minutes on the clock starting …”

Three minutes. Three minutes to escape. Three minutes to live. Either they were gunned down in the escape or they were blown to pieces by their own explosives. The most important three minutes in any of their lifetimes.

“Now!”

Seungcheol could hear them. The scuffling boots of fifty men sprinting up the stairs towards the room they were locked inside without any hope of escape. There was nowhere to run, no windows, no doors, no vents, and their fallen comrade wasn’t likely going to be of any help when it came to a fight.

Mingyu still hadn’t stopped shaking even if he did look a lot calmer with Minghao’s arms around him.

“Coups, you haven’t moved!” Changkyun hissed urgently. “You need to move! You have two minutes and forty-five seconds!”

Seungcheol was aware. He’d been counting.

“Mingyu!”

The boy flinched at the sound of his name and, if Seungcheol had the time, he would give him a moment to get his wits about him and overcome the terror of being strapped down and tormented like that, but he didn’t.

“Is there anything I’m missing? Is there another way out of this room?”

Joshua was searching the room, delving into the darkest corners and running his hands over the blood-smeared walls as if one of them would just suddenly cave in and reveal a secret passage to Narnia.

But Mingyu kept his eyes downcast as he whispered, “No.”

“Two minutes, Coups,” Changkyun reminded him worriedly.

“Is everyone else out?”

“I don’t know about anyone else,” came Minhyuk’s slightly panicked voice. “But I’ve got Shownu and Kihyun. I need to get them back to the base but Jun and Wonho are staying behind.”

“Hold up!” Changkyun blurted, and Seungcheol froze in horror, listening to the clicking sounds of a computer mouse that preceded the muttered curse.

“What is it?”

“I lost three trackers.”

Shit … Shit, shit, shit. This couldn’t be happening. They were still trapped, Mingyu could barely stand without Minghao’s help, there were half a hundred gunmen searching for them as they stood here, paralysed, and now three people were missing.

“Who?”

“In here!” Somebody shouted from the other side of the locked barrier. “I can hear someone in the red room.”

Seungcheol took an instinctive step forwards, putting himself between the rattling doorframe and Mingyu’s hunched and vulnerable figure as he gestured to Joshua, “Get down.”

“I only have boot sensors on,” Changkyun continued as the four of them sank to the floor. “The chips you swallowed are already eroding so I can’t be sure.”

“Take a fucking roll call then,” Seungcheol cursed, reloading his gun with anxious fingers in preparation to shoot whoever managed to break through first. “Find who it is.”

He could hear shots ricocheting off the steel door and the frustrated yells of Takashima’s men in between. They had just under two minutes left, they were still stuck on the second floor and now there were people shooting at them.

Seungcheol could see slivers of light beginning to breech their only shield of protection as the bullets started to work their way through and he still had no idea what to do when Changkyun came back to the comms.

“Kihyun, Dino and Vernon.”

“Kihyun’s with us,” Jihoon countered instantly.

“And Hoshi and I are out,” Hansol confirmed. 

Seungcheol held his breath and waited for someone – anyone – to say that they had Chan but there was only silence. The most deafening silence that had ever dared to exist.

“Where the fuck is Dino!” he bellowed just seconds before he heard a horrifyingly familiar prepubescent voice start screaming.

Not through the comms but on the other side of the door. Not a scream of agony but a scream of fury, “EAT THIS YOU FUCKING HORSE FARTS!” abruptly followed by the earth-shuddering rattatat of a machine gun.

“Jun!”

Seungcheol wasn’t sure why Junhui was the name that left his lips or what he was expecting the boy to do but it was the first person who popped up in the forefront of his mind.

Chan was outside this room and they were running out of time to escape a building rigged to explode. Who the fuck else was he supposed to call if not the murderous enigma that was Wen Junhui?

“Already on it, Coups!”

“HOLY SHIT!” was the only warning they got before the steel door was blasted off its reinforced hinges.

A dozen men came barrelling through but none of them seemed to even notice Seungcheol and his party. On the contrary, every single one of them were now facing the open doorway with expressions surprisingly akin to fear on their faces. 

“Get down!” Changkyun screeched.

Seungcheol didn’t even question it. He dove on top of Joshua, reaching up his arms to cover the boy’s head and glancing to his left just in time to see Mingyu turning to shield Minghao as the very ground beneath them trembling.

Heat scorched his back, his shirt disintegrating to expose the skin of his spine, and he couldn’t help the scream of agony that ripped through his throat as the room around him was set ablaze.

“Coups!” Somebody was pulling at his arm, tendons whining in protest. “Coups, we gotta go! Get up!”

Junhui tugged harder and Seungcheol almost fell on his face as he battled to get his feet beneath him, free hand reaching out to snag Joshua’s shirt and pull him up alongside him.

The room was on fire. Most of Takashima’s men were either motionless lumps of charred flesh or writhing tongues of flame, screaming and frantically flapping their arms as they rolled over the floor.

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” Hansol was screaming because, of course, Hansol was responsible for this. “Twenty seconds!”

Seungcheol didn’t need to be told twice. He wrestled Mingyu into the closest thing to an upright position he could manage, wincing at the sight of the boy’s heat-blistered back, and shoved him into Minghao and Joshua’s arms.

“Go, go, go!”

Allowing the three of them and Hansol to forge on in front of them, he seized Chan’s arm and glared at him through the thickening smoke.

“If we get out of this, I’m sending you to Kihyun’s for a week.”

“Count down!” Changkyun shrieked. “Fifteen … fourteen … thirteen …”

They were already at the stairs but they still had a floor to cover to get to the exit.

They may actually die here. They may not make it.

“Keep moving!” Seungcheol choked, throat burning and eyes streaming as he shoved Chan ahead in an attempt to help him keep up with the others. He threw a look over his shoulder to see Junhui bringing up the rear, occasionally firing shots at whoever was still chasing them. 

Minghao and Joshua clearly weren’t moving as quickly as they could with Mingyu dragging his feet between them. Hansol was lugging his rocket launcher and Chan was almost a head shorter than every one of them. If it wouldn’t have wasted a few precious seconds, Seungcheol would have hoisted the youngest onto his back and carried him.

The door was finally in sight as the count down in their ears reached five … 

Seungcheol went down, the burns on his back and the smoke in his lungs rendering his muscles cataplexic and useless as his knees buckled and his chest hit the ground.

Four …

He heard the first explosion go off in the basement. Then the second. There was only one more before the entire building would be engulfed.

Three …

“Coups is down!” Changkyun shouted.

Two …

Somebody’s arms were around his chest, heaving him up, dragging him forwards.

One …

Seungcheol tasted fresh air on his tongue just as the final blast went off and the entire structure crumbled and caved. Concrete cracked, wood split, cement disintegrated and the building flattened in less than a few seconds.

Dust billowed up from the rubble, formulating an impenetrable cloud of thick floating poison that obstructed Seungcheol’s vision and crawled into his airways.

“Coups!”

He was sprawled on his back, battered body aching all over, but he still managed to roll his head to the right and blink away the tears until the face of the person lying beside him came into focus.

Joshua was on his stomach, skin smeared in soot and dirt, cheek pressed into the ground beneath them. One of his hands was above his head, fingers bloody and misshapen, and the other had its fingers curled in the front of Seungcheol’s shirt.

“Talk to me, Cheol …”

Joshua had pulled him out. Joshua had doubled back when he heard Changkyun’s warning cry and had risked his own life to drag Seungcheol to safety. All this time, Seungcheol had been wondering if Joshua cared for him as much as he cared for Joshua and now …

“You idiot …” he wheezed breathlessly, reaching up to grab hold of the hand against his chest. “You fucking moron …”

Joshua’s blurred face split into a relieved grin that abruptly slipped off to make way for a bout of haggard coughing as the smoke continued to swirl and spiral all around them.

They needed to move, and not just to save themselves from asphyxiation. The immediate danger was gone but it wouldn’t take long for the police and fire services to arrive. And then they would have a lot of impossible explaining to do. 

“Come on,” Joshua spluttered, clambering shakily to his feet and reaching down to help his leader. “We have to find the cars.”

He had no idea where any of the others were. He’d barely even been able to keep track of who was still at the scene and who had helped evacuate the injured. Chan, Hansol, Mingyu, Minghao, they’d all been ahead of him but he didn’t know if they’d made it out.

And Junhui had been behind him.

His feet were still disastrously uncoordinated but, with Joshua’s arm around his waist, he managed to stagger towards where the dust seemed to be the thinnest and the faint glare of what could be a pair of headlights winked through the gloom.

“Coups?” someone called out. “Joshua?”

“We can hear you!” Joshua called back. “But we can’t see you.”

Seungcheol raised his head, squinted, and then there was a solid grip on his upper arm as Wonho’s hulking figure loomed out of the dust, his pale skin practically reflecting what little moonlight was peeking through the clouds. He only had a second to appreciate the assistance before the combined effort of Wonho and Joshua managed to haul him into the open.

The remaining two cars were waiting for them, coated in a thick layer of plaster particles with their paintwork scratched from the stray pieces of concrete and rubble that had scraped past them.

“Everyone okay?” Seungcheol asked, still a little breathless even as he stepped out of Joshua’s grasp. “Is everyone here?”

Chan and Hansol were both bent over, hands on their knees and shoulders heaving with the effort of regaining the air they’d lost in the frantic sprint for the exit. Mingyu was sitting slumped against one of the car wheel’s, leaning heavily on Minghao’s shoulder as Wonwoo crouched beside him and emptied a bottle of water over his head.

Soonyoung was standing in the driver’s seat with the door wide open, body angled so that he could hold onto the roof and still tower over the rest of them, hawk-like eyes scanning the area for any sign of another threat.

“Minhyuk, Woozi and Seungkwan took the other car,” Wonwoo called over his shoulder, still distracted by the task of trying to cool Mingyu’s body temperature. “Shownu was bleeding too much and Kihyun threw up. They had to get them back.”

Seungcheol glanced around and tried unsuccessfully not to let the panic seep into his voice as he asked, “Where’s Jun?”

No one responded.

“Changkyun!” He didn’t even care about using codenames anymore. “Where’s Jun?”

“I don’t –”

“Calm down …”

Every head snapped in the direction of the worryingly shaky voice just in time to see Junhui stumbling out from behind the car.

“I’m right... here …”

He wavered, stumbled and sank to his knees and Soonyoung only just managed to catch him before he could keel over and faceplant into the ground.

\--------------------

They returned to Seungcheol’s bunker, instructing Changkyun and Seokmin to meet them there. With Takashima and his men dead, there was no reason for them to use the safehouse anymore, and the bunker had a far better equipped medbay anyway.

Seungcheol’s back was burned but not nearly as badly as Mingyu’s. That boy now had a fresh layer of scar tissue forming over the whip marks that had already taken up the majority of his torso.

He was lying on his stomach on one of the beds, arms at his sides and cheek nestled comfortably in the pillow as Minghao absently ran a set of spindly fingers through his hair as he slept. Once again, Seungcheol was reminded how close the two of them had gotten.

Hyunwoo and Kihyun were asleep, too. Their beds had been pushed up together so they could hold hands, Hyunwoo with his oxygen mask and IV line pumping the contents of a blood bag Minhyuk had found into his veins and Kihyun with his head heavily bandaged.

They hadn’t had any more beds so Junhui was lying on the table, their only other oxygen supply steadily filtering its way through his lungs. Seungcheol had checked him over himself, wary of showing anybody else the scar that Junhui obviously wanted to be kept hidden.

From what he could deduce, the boy had no physical injuries but he had inhaled an awful lot of dust and smoke that had managed to get inside his lungs and reduce them to shrivelled prunes of useless cells. With plenty of breathing aid, he should be fine.

Seokmin had been working tirelessly since their return, flitting between patients and constantly checking their vital signs until Seungcheol had needed to order him to take a break. He hadn’t expected the boy to suddenly crumple and burst into tears.

“I thought you were going to die,” he’d whimpered, words muffled with his face buried in Seungcheol’s chest. “You were so close to dying.”

“Sit down,” his leader had told him, guiding him over to the wall and sinking onto the floor beside him. “I can’t promise you that I won’t die one day but I can promise you that I won’t die without making sure that you have somewhere safe to go and someone trustworthy to look after you.”

That had been almost an hour ago and now Seokmin was fast asleep with his head in Seungcheol’s lap, too exhausted to keep his eyes open or to feel the cool surface of the tiled floor beneath him.

“You look comfy.”

Joshua’s hair was still wet from his shower but the dirt and blood had been rinsed from his body, giving him a much cleaner and more domesticated appearance as opposed to Seungcheol who hadn’t been able to do the same due to the fresh dressings on his back.

“I don’t want to move him,” he responded, smiling fondly down at Seokmin as Joshua sat beside them. “He’s had a busy night.”

“So have you,” Joshua pointed out.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, backs against the wall, shoulders pressed together, just relishing in the feeling of being safe and okay and victorious and home. Because that’s what this was now. For all of them.

“I set Minhyuk, Wonho and Changkyun up with rooms for the night,” Joshua continued after a while. “Everyone’s asleep now. Well, all except one.”

He nodded over at Minghao who had started humming some kind of whispering tune under his breath as Mingyu stirred in his sleep.

“Will he be okay?”

“Yeah,” Seungcheol nodded. “Tonight was a big deal for him. It’ll take a few days for the realisation to set in but I think he’s going to be just fine. He’s a strong kid.”

Sooner or later, he’d have to sit down with Minghao and get the drop on his true mental condition. He’d just killed the man who’d murdered his family. It would give him closure but then would come the sensation of despair, of hopelessness, of emptiness, as he realised his life’s ambition had been fulfilled.

But Seungcheol was confident that, so long as he was surrounded by his friends, Minghao would get through it.

He only wished Takashima’s death could have been slower, more painful, drawn out over days if that was even possible. He only wished that everybody had gotten their turn with him. Hyunwoo for Jooheon. Junhui for Hyungwon. Soonyoung for Mingi. In his opinion, the monster had got off lightly, but at least he was dead.

At least it was over now.

“You know what you did was really stupid,” Seungcheol murmured without taking his eyes off Seokmin’s eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks. “Running back in for me like that.”

Joshua let out a huff of amusement, “I’d rather burn to death than let you down.”

Now it was Seungcheol’s turn to chuckle, “Let’s hope it never comes to that.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“We don’t have anything to drink.”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol nodded with a contented sigh. “I won’t.”

“Close your eyes,” Joshua told him. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Seungcheol’s head was already tilting sideways, pillowing itself on his best friend’s shoulder before he’d even realised he thought of him as his best friend. He was overcome with fatigue and couldn’t have kept his eyes open even if he’d wanted to.

“Hey, Shua?” he whispered just before the darkness swallowed him whole.

“Yeah?”

“How would you feel about being my second? Officially?”

He couldn’t think of anybody he trusted more. He couldn’t think of anybody he’d ever admired as much as he admired this boy. Where he’d come from, what he’d turned himself into despite what had been done to him … Joshua was one of the strongest and best people Seungcheol was ever going to meet.

“Eh. I’ll think about it.”

But he was still a brat sometimes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> almost there...


	29. Ninjas, Thugs, Civilians

“Okay … hear me out,” Hansol started, and Seungcheol was already rolling his eyes.

There were only two things that would come from Hansol’s utterance of this statement. The first was another plea to dye his hair, something he’d been itching to do ever since Jihoon had one day walked through the door with candy pink locks a few weeks ago. And the second was probably what this next conversation was going to centre around.

“How about I test the explosives on Minho’s corner?” Hansol continued, shuffling forwards so he could wedge himself in the space between the two front seats, eyes volleying between Seungcheol and Joshua to gauge their reactions to his new ‘brilliant’ plan. “It’s closer to the fire station.”

Hansol made great weapons. Or, at least, he made great blue prints which he sold at even greater prices and, although Seungcheol told him he didn’t have to, he always gave what he earned to the books that paid everyone’s wages.

Most of the main team didn’t care about payment. They all had access to the safes anyway and they never went without food or shelter. After a while, it had seemed useless to assign specific salaries.

“Hansol …” Joshua sighed. “We’ve talked about this. Let Jihoon send the blue prints to Chong Tingyan so you don’t have to test prototypes.”

His tone was scolding but his smile was fond as Hansol dramatically threw himself back into the seat squashed between Mingyu and Minghao with a pitiful whine, “That’s half the fun!”

He’d had his twenty-first birthday not long ago but, instead of maturing, he seemed to be even more pouty and bratty than ever before. He could no longer blame his teenaged hormones for his regular outbursts, although he still tried on occasion.

All Seungcheol’s kids were adults now with the exception of their resident baby, Chan, who’d just turned nineteen. He could usually run errands no problem but the moment a gun was placed in his hands, he turned into Rambo. That was why Seungcheol was still reluctant to take him on raids.

“You’re sitting on my jacket,” Minghao hissed, tugging fruitlessly on the snagged fabric.

Hansol blew a raspberry at him which, unsurprisingly, was not well received and, before Seungcheol knew it, there was a full-on brawl in the backseat despite Mingyu’s best attempts to break it up.

Joshua didn’t even flinch.

Seungcheol let out a long breath, crossed his arms over the top of the steering wheel and pressed his forehead into his wrists. This wasn’t the usual team he would pick for these types of missions since none of his three backseat passengers were particularly good at staying still for the duration of time it usually took for these things to get done but everyone else was busy.

Seungkwan had moved back into his ex-husband’s house almost two years ago and, as a result, they barely ever saw him anymore. He still laundered all their money and dropped by whenever something particularly drastic was going down, though, and Soonyoung was currently attending a fundraiser for the Song Mingi Foundation he’d started for troubled teens.

Wonwoo was the guest of honour at the grand opening of a new fight club being held tonight, Junhui was off with Hyunwoo and Wonho overseeing a drug shipment, and Chan was still recovering from a bought of flu. Not that Seungcheol would allow him on this kind of joyride anyway.

He’d already had to deal with a few unwanted squabbles between drug dealers, a pimp who wasn’t under him trying to take clients, and he had an apparently very important meeting with a member of a petty little gang starting in a few minutes at a location Jihoon was yet to give him.

And that was just tonight. He still needed to finish preparing for the new dealer arriving from the States in a few days.

Work, work, work.

But that was his life now and, although it was strenuous and stressful, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He loved his job, he loved the people he shared it with and, after everything they’d been through together in the past few years, he knew how to be grateful for what he had.

“Let go of me, you fucking Mammoth!”

With exceptions, of course.

He glanced into the rear-view mirror to see Mingyu’s hand clamped around the nape of Hansol’s neck, forcing his body to bend in half until his head was trapped between his knees as Minghao looked on smugly. Yet another reason as to why these three had never been on a mission together.

“Mingyu, cut it out,” Joshua murmured absently, still engrossed in whatever was on the tablet in his lap. “Switch seats with Hansol and for the love of all things holy, don’t sit on Minghao’s jacket.”

There was a brief shuffle and a few grunts before the seating arrangements were changed and the backseat finally fell quiet. Seungcheol sent Joshua a thankful smile, once again reminded how right he’d been to choose the boy as his second despite his initial doubts.

He wasn’t as good a fighter as Junhui or Minghao and he wasn’t as competent a leader as Soonyoung but, over time, Joshua had completely bypassed all those flaws and learnt to play to his strengths as if his weaknesses no longer existed. Now he was a force to be reckoned with.

He led this team just as well as Seungcheol did and, without him, they would never have been able to take over Seoul’s underworld. 

Joshua had come so far from the timid pretty boy Seungcheol had bought one night at a slave auction and found cowering in the corner of a bedroom. He was no longer the kid who ran whenever he was afraid. He’d left the indecisive and unsure Joshua far behind him and Seungcheol couldn’t be prouder. 

So many things had changed for this team. Or, as Seungcheol liked to call them now, his family.

“I’ve got the location,” Jihoon’s voice crackled through the comms. “Once I send it, I.M and I will be offline for a few hours to fix the breach in the firewalls.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Seungcheol dismissed. “Send me the location and do what you have to.”

“10-4, boss.”

Joshua’s phone buzzed with the incoming message and he sucked in a breath through his teeth as he fished the device from his pocket, “Didn’t Cheol tell you to send it to  _ his  _ phone?”

“Shut the fuck up, Shua.” 

“Seriously, though, what did I ever do to you?”

Some things remained the same. Even after all this time.

Seungcheol pulled the car to a stop roughly twenty feet from the two vehicles that were parked at the entrance to the underpass. It was a weird place for a meeting. A more residential area with fancy schools, veterinary clinics and one of the more prestigious of Seoul’s private hospitals sitting at the top of a small incline just a mile away.

“We have a body,” Joshua warned just as Seungcheol was reaching for the door.

He’d already seen it on the way up but only now did he realise it was missing the top part of its head. He couldn’t even call Jihoon to get it identified.

Someone’s phone ignited with vibrations that echoed far too loudly in the silence of the car and Seungcheol heard shifting from the backseat just before Minghao let out a solemn hum.

“What is it?”

“Jun.”

Seungcheol tried his best to ignore the way that Junhui just always seemed to know things that no one else did at times like these. Getting a random message from Junhui before entering a raid or negotiation usually meant that something was about to go horribly wrong.

Seungcheol, Kihyun and Hyunwoo had sat him down one day and asked him how … just  _ how  _ he could possibly know the things he did, how he could always be a few steps ahead. And the answer they got was one they really should have expected:

An obvious lie about making a deal with a witch in Haiti, “Now I get messages from the cosmos whenever shit is amiss,” he’d said with a dead serious expression.

They’d given up after that. All Seungcheol knew was that he never liked to get a message from Junhui before any kind of meeting.

“What does it say?”

“Careful,” Minghao whispered. 

“I will be,” Seungcheol nodded just before he threw open the door and swung his legs out of the car.

The night air was frigid and a light layer of snow had dusted the street, atmosphere rife with the fading stench of gun smoke and Seungcheol once again looked to the fallen body basking in the glow of a street lamp.

Its clothes weren’t familiar to him but very few gangs used uniforms anyway. That sort of thing was reserved for slaves, pharmacists and sometimes dealers in the black market so they could be identified at events. This guy didn’t seem to be any of those things, dressed in simple slacks and mostly engulfed by a padded jacket.

Seungcheol refocused, instead, on the eight man that were standing ahead of him, clearly waiting. He recognised the one perched on the trunk of one of the cars as a Japanese cage fighter Wonwoo had pointed out to him a few months ago. And Moonsu, if he remembered the guy’s name correctly. They’d met a couple of times at the flesh trades Seungcheol occasionally attended.

He was positioned just ahead of the others, hands behind his back and cigarette cradled sloppily between his lips.

Seungcheol stopped at a distance and spread his arms slightly as if to say, ‘here I am’. He had no idea what this was about but he was sure it was Sungjong’s latest trap. Ever since Seungcheol had killed his father, that rat had been trying – and failing – to get his revenge, his plans getting more and more ridiculous as time went on.

“I heard you wanted to see me,” he called loudly, ensuring that the others could hear him from where they were waiting in the car. 

Moonsu smirked, “Ah, Coups … It’s been a while.”

It really hadn’t. They’d seen each other just two weeks ago when one of these bozos had tried to snatch Chan as some kind of leverage without knowing Mingyu was in such close proximity. 

That particular hadn’t ended in a gunfight only because they were in public but Seungcheol had dealt with his frustrations by slaughtering a few of Sungjong’s dealers later that night. He would likely do it again if this meeting didn’t go the way he wanted to.

“So …” he sighed, not bothering to keep the exasperation from his voice. “You finally came to your senses and realised your petty little bunch of pricks are far too pathetic to take our turf from us and now you want forgiveness for every one of my guys you’ve murdered in the last few weeks?”

He knew that was precisely what  _ wasn’t  _ going to happen but he could at least be hopeful. For their sakes.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that, Coups. You don’t have to worry anymore. We’ll be leaving you and your guys to your precious turf.”

Seungcheol could see his hands slowly edging behind his back and he knew exactly what was about to happen but he chose not to react just yet.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he answered instead.

“But there’s just one more thing we have to say before we go …”

Seungcheol had already dropped to the ground before Moonsu could pull the trigger, bullets whizzing over his head as he ripped his own piece from his belt and returned the fire.

He caught the Japanese guy on the trunk in the shoulder and Moonsu in the thigh before his slide flicked back and locked the empty chamber in place.

“Fuck,” he grunted, tossing the weapon aside and drawing his knife.

Thankfully, it seemed that everybody else had reached the same predicament. Seungcheol could have easily signalled to the others in the car and had them provide him with more ammo but it wasn’t honourable to bring a gun to what was now a fist fight.

Someone growled and he turned his head in time to angle his body and take the knife to his shoulder rather than his neck where it would have embedded itself had he not reacted as quickly as he did.

He felt the blade being wrenched from his muscle tissue and brought his forearms up to cross in front of his face so he could parry the kick that aimed itself at his head. His assailant had to have been one of the rumoured fighters Sungjong had acquired because Seungcheol was certain none of the men he’d fought previously had ever had a hit that hard.

He stumbled and only just managed to catch himself before he fell.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!” he heard Minghao scream just before the man in front of him lost his head, his decapitated body thudding onto the sidewalk with two bloodied knives still clutched in his lifeless hands.

Two.

Only then did Seungcheol register the burning in his abdomen and he choked out a laugh in spite of the blood stain that was slowly seeping through his undershirt. The first knife had been a distraction. How the hell had he missed that?

Gritting his teeth, he leapt back into the fray of blades and bullets before the four remaining imbeciles scampered off to one of the awaiting vehicles, clearly intending on making a break for it now that Seungcheol’s backup had arrived. 

“Get the tires!” Joshua shouted and Minghao raised his blow dart, puffing out a single shot.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Hansol cackled. “That wasn’t even close!”

But it  _ was  _ impressive. The dart buried itself deep into the key hole on the trunk but there wasn’t much that would do to aid Sungjong’s men’s escape. 

Hansol finally stopped laughing long enough to actually blow out the tires and Seungcheol watched, clutching his bleeding arm, as Joshua took out the survivors who’d been clamouring desperately towards the second car.

“Shownu is going to be pissed when it comes to cleaning this up,” he hissed.

“Call Kihyun in advance so he can get a team together,” Seungcheol instructed, striding over to the first body.

He had no idea what had just happened or why. Somebody had already been dead when they arrived and there had been no attempt to talk or negotiate at all before they’d started shooting at him.

It might have been a murder attempt, maybe something else. Sungjong always was one for theatrics.

But they won. Just like they always did. No matter how many squabbles took place within their ranks, no matter how dark their prospect of success, they always pulled themselves together in time to do the job.

Seungcheol hadn’t even called them but they’d known that he was in trouble, that he was in dire need of assistance, and they’d come sprinting to his rescue just like he knew they would. Just like they always did. 

It seemed impossible to believe that little ragtag group of teenagers Seungcheol had picked up along the way had managed to transform into such a well-oiled machine. They’d suffered, they’d been traumatised, they’d risked their lives and they’d watched others lose theirs, but they were still standing. They were still here.

Seungcheol couldn’t deny that he was exhausted, that maybe he wouldn’t mind taking a break from the near-death experiences and the bullets grazing past his skull, but this was the only existence he’d ever known.

A muffled thump pierced the silence, followed abruptly by another and another, then the trunk of one of the cars popped open and somebody pushed themselves up onto the lip of the compartment space. They were about to hop down when Seungcheol reached out and threw them to the asphalt.

His arms were bound behind him, preventing him from protecting himself against a harsh connection with the curb, and a nest of red hair covered what little of their face was visible from underneath the tightly wound scarf.

“What’s this?” Seungcheol muttered, stooping down to tug his new discovery upright.

It was a boy. Pretty face, bluish lips, obviously terrified but he stared up with wide defiant eyes even as his teeth chattered and his body shook with tremors caused by both cold and fear.

Seungcheol couldn’t help but think that he looked remarkably like Joshua had all those years ago on that auction stage: afraid but stronger than anyone would ever give him credit for.

They looked at each other.

And you know the rest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, beautiful humans, this is the official end of this fic. There is one *bonus*chapter so please stick around for that.  
> We hit a few bumps along the way so sorry we weren't as interactive in the comments as we were before. We hope you enjoyed it regardless.  
> thank you for reading and look out for our other work both individual and collaborative   
> 💜💜


	30. BONUS CHAPTER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! This is Anonymous Introvert. I'm finally back after my little hiatus, I'm doing much better and I just wanted to say a million thank you's to everybody who sent us such kind comments and also to MinYun for doing such an awesome job in my absence.
> 
> We hope this chapter will give everybody some much-needed closure

Seungcheol gave up on looking presentable approximately ten minutes after walking through the grand doors of the banquet hall. His shirt was uncomfortable enough without the bow tie restricting his breathing and he couldn’t help but tug on it every few seconds. His shoes creaked as he walked and the fabric of his pants felt wrong on his skin.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Joshua laughed, reaching out to undo the top button of his leader’s shirt and help him loosen the bow tie a little.

He gave him a mock pat on the chest and then adjusted his own tie, still neatly placed despite his administrations.

The scars there weren’t as bad as they used to be, fading with time, but some of them were still raised, puckered. The one on his brow was skilfully covered by his hair and he didn’t usually care about its presence when he was at the base but he was still hesitant to show the aftermath of his torture in public.

His wrists and ankles still bore the traces of the barbed wire bondage and the tips of his fingers looked like he'd shoved them in a wood chipper all those years ago but the fine white gloves he wore to events like these did a good job of hiding it. 

Seungcheol glanced down to where he knew the bionic brace was hidden beneath Joshua’s pant leg, helping to steady the still-weakened bones and tendons. The muscle of his thigh was barely salvageable after the infection but, thanks to Seokjin, he’d avoided having the entire limb amputated.

There were times when Seungcheol had been sure Joshua would give up but, even when he seemed to be at his lowest, he kept on pushing through the months – years – of physical therapy that Wonho coached. 

Sometimes, Seungcheol would catch him without his shirt on or just in his boxers, would see the horrific amount of scarring on his skin, and would be reminded of just how close they came to losing him that day. It still hurt to think about.

When they’d moved their base five years ago, Seungcheol had known that things would change but he hadn’t been nearly prepared to see how much.

Min Suga, for one, had transferred most of his operations to Seoul. Seungcheol had a sneaking suspicion that it was only because Doctor Kim Seokjin had decided that he wanted to be at the hospital to keep watch over Jeonghan.

Seokmin was off somewhere with an old army medic, learning what he could to become a more competent doctor without the traditional schooling process. Seungkwan had branched out the bars and clubs until they had almost ten franchises scattered throughout Korea, and even one in Japan. Soonyoung’s foundation had made him an unofficially spokesperson for underprivileged youths and he often had to travel out of town for conferences.

Seungcheol had known his team wouldn’t be together forever. He’d always known that, but Joshua’s abduction and Junhui’s disappearance had solidified it in his mind: His kids wouldn’t always be there.

But those kids – now men in their thirties – never stayed away for long. They got together every few weeks to shoot at shit. Minghao and Mingyu no longer lived at the base and Seungcheol was man enough to admit that he missed them desperately. Hansol, Jihoon and Chan didn’t leave but they had their own teams and operations now.

Sometimes Hyunwoo, Kihyun, Wonho and Minhyuk would join them and they’d laugh about the good old days when life was simpler and slow days were few and every problem could be solved with fists and guns and the occasional blow dart, but they were grown now and they had to set aside the past. 

Sometimes they’d tell him about Jeonghan.

Kihyun would mention seeing him at the market, Minghao would say that he’d worked late and so he’d looked out for him while he walked to his car. They reported that he always turned the other way. He never asked questions or reached out. It was just the little things here and there but every bit of information weighed heavily on Seungcheol’s heart.

He’d seen Jeonghan for himself a few months ago. It hadn’t even occurred to him what area he was in until Joshua looked up and saw him staring at them through his car window, shock and hurt written all over his still-so-beautiful face.

Seungcheol had been overcome both with a joy and a sadness like he’d never felt before and he’d only just managed to get into his vehicle and drive away before the tears began to flow freely and he’d had to pull over to prevent an accident.

It had been a long time since he and Joshua had just sat together on his bed, mindlessly dismantling their guns and fiddling with their knives, but that’s what they’d done that night. Seungcheol had stayed silent, knowing Joshua had feelings of his own running around his head that he needed to work through as well.

That was months ago, and now they were here. 

As the founder of the homeless shelter and the signed co-owner of the Song Mingi Foundation, there were just some things that Seungcheol couldn’t avoid. He hated these types of events, had managed to evade them for ten years. The last one he’d been to that was this grand was back when he first moved to Seoul.

Now all the politicians ever wanted to do was have fancy dinners and banquets and parties, and if Seungcheol wanted to stay in their good graces, he had to at least show face at a few of them.

Oddly enough, though, it was Min Suga who’d suggested he attend this particular gathering. It was the merging of a few hospitals and funding organisations so that poor and homeless people would have access to healthcare.

Seungcheol supposed it was a good cause but he couldn’t look past the fact that these men and women were using Mingi’s name to launder money and avoid paying taxes. It was almost poetic, in a way. Mingi would have laughed at the irony.

Everybody here knew who Seungcheol was. The infamous S.Coups was in their midst. They were perfectly aware that they were rubbing shoulders with the underworld and their corrupt asses didn’t care.

“I’m going to get drinks before Minghao and Mingyu get here,” Joshua notified him, limping off in the direction of the bar.

Most of the others were going to come out tonight to support Soonyoung, and Seungcheol was admittedly excited about the prospect of seeing them again.

He spotted Min Suga and Kim Seokjin talking with a crowd, Seokjin’s obnoxious laugh occasionally echoing off the walls, and Seungcheol could see how Suga’s eyes glittered every time he looked at him.

It was the same look Kihyun gave Hyunwoo, even now. The same look Mingyu had on his face when he thought no one saw him watching Minghao. The same look Seungcheol saw plastered onto a familiar face as he walked into the main hall.

Kim Kibum of the Kim clan.

He couldn’t say they’d had much contact. Kibum was Taeyeon’s cousin and operated parallel to the Kims’ usual business. In fact, Seungcheol had even heard that he was an editor in his own publishing business.

The same publishing business that was responsible for the book Jeonghan released. 

Seungcheol had only been able to read it once. It took him the better part of a month to finish the story echoed on the pages from Jeonghan’s perspective. From the moment their eyes met the first time to the moment the sedative kicked in and he fell asleep in Seungcheol’s arms the last time.

Kibum was sneaking up behind Jeonghan now, reaching out to snag his waist with one arm and waiting for the doctor to turn his head before he brought their lips together.

Jeonghan was still easily identifiable to Seungcheol even now, with his hair full and floating around his shoulders and his suit tailored to every curve of his body. He looked like an angel. It felt like a dream. But Seungcheol knew it wasn’t _his_ dream. Not anymore. 

Kibum was rumoured to be a lot more violent than the other members of his clan. He was branded by the Mins themselves, had even worked for them for a while before he retired into his business.

Was he ever rough with Jeonghan? Did he ever hurt him? Did Jeonghan even know what his boyfriend was?

Seungcheol felt a hand fall on his shoulder and whipped around to see a face he hadn’t expected to see ever again.

“Jun?” 

The one and only Wen Junhui stood before him, dressed in a full black suit. His hair was a little longer again but had been dyed a soft brown colour that made him look a little less severe than he had when Seungcheol had first met him.

“Hey there, Cheol,” he grinned and they hugged so tightly that Seungcheol felt bad complaining about his suit earlier. 

“I know better than to ask,” he sighed as he drew back.

“Just got back from a harmless visit with my parents …” Junhui chirped in that same tone that told Seungcheol he was lying. He couldn’t believe he’d missed Junhui’s lies. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Are you staying? The others will be here soon.”

Seungcheol hoped his voice didn’t sound as pathetic in Junhui’s head as it did in his own but it probably had if Junhui’s smirk, dry chuckle and gentle pat to his old leader’s shoulder was anything to go by.

“I’m here, Coups,” he said cryptically. “I’ve always been here.” 

“Cheol?”

The familiar ache in Seungcheol’s chest tripled – maybe quadrupled – as Jeonghan’s voice cut into his ears. Junhui shot him one last smile and then melted seamlessly into the crowd, abandoning Seungcheol to turn around and set eyes on Jeonghan once again.

Kibum gave him a single nod, pecked his boyfriend on the cheek, and then left them alone.

“Hi, Hannie.”

Seungcheol’s voice was rough. He could feel his sinuses burn with the need to burst into tears, happy or sad he had no idea, but Jeonghan was here. Standing just an inch shorter than him, slim, pale and lithe as he’d always been and yet somehow even more beautiful than he remembered.

“I … H-How …” Jeonghan let out a self-deprecating breath through his nose, laughing softly at his own stuttering before finally trying again. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” 

They stood, gaping at each other for what couldn’t have been more than a few seconds and yet still felt like days, weeks, maybe even an eternity. That’s what Seungcheol had given up on when he’d let him go.

“We should talk about this,” Jeonghan said.

His brave Hannie, always the first to approach the difficult issues, but Seungcheol didn’t want to talk. He’d worked so hard to get over this boy, apologising into his pillow night after night as though that would make up for not being able to say it in person.

If they talked right now, he was afraid it would send him hurtling back to square one. That it would make him want to take Jeonghan back home with him and settle down like he’d always wanted even though he knew – he _knew_ – that he no longer had that right.

“I can’t talk to you without wanting to keep you to myself,” he admitted, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Jeonghan’s ear.

“You gave me up, Cheol,” the doctor reminded him, and it was almost cruel in the way he said it. He might as well have just slapped Seungcheol around the face. 

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Jeonghan fired back almost instantly. “I know why but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. God, I convinced myself that I was crazy. I kept seeing everyone. Minghao, Soonyoung, Kihyun … I thought I was losing my mind.”

“You weren’t,” Seungcheol assured him gently. “They were there.”

“Then where were you?” 

It was a dare and Seungcheol didn’t know what the answer was supposed to be.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated because he thought there was nothing else that he could say, but then he caught sight of Kibum hanging back, giving them their space but also watching their interaction with a great deal of care and caution.

It was possessive but not dangerously so. There was no jealousy, no spite, no anger. There was only concern, and the words tumbled from Seungcheol’s mouth before he could stop them.

“Are you happy?”

Jeonghan sucked in a long breath, paused for a moment and then procured a rubber band from his pocket that he used to scrape his hair into a tiny little ponytail at the nape of his neck. And, for just a moment, Seungcheol thought he was going to say ‘no’.

“Yes. I’m very happy,” he puffed out at last. “Are you?”

Now that was a question Seungcheol hadn’t been asked in a very, very long time. A question he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to answer. He could lie. Jeonghan was safe and content where he was and Seungcheol telling him that he wasn’t would only cause him more pain. But he didn’t even know what the truth was. 

Until he glanced over Jeonghan’s shoulder and caught sight of Mingyu sweeping Joshua off his unsteady feet with a bone-crushing bear hug and Minghao and Junhui conversing in rapid fire Mandarin with gigantic beaming grins splitting their faces in two.

“Yeah,” he murmured. Almost to himself. Like a revelation. “I think I am.”

Jeonghan had moved on, had found somebody who he loved with every ounce of his heart and soul, had become a trauma surgeon, had been brilliant. He’d done exactly as Seungcheol had wanted him to.

He’d made a life for himself in which he was safe and loved and happy.

So why couldn’t Seungcheol do the same? 

“Can we …” Jeonghan started, clearly without knowing how he was going to finish. “I don’t know … Can we catch up? As friends?”

Friends. Somehow it didn’t hurt nearly as badly as he thought it would, maybe because it was exactly what he wanted to hear. He didn’t want to take Jeonghan away from Kibum, he didn’t want to put him in danger, but he wanted to be near him and, apparently, Jeonghan felt the same way.

“I’d like that,” he said, and Jeonghan smiled.

Seungcheol had missed that smile.

But he didn’t have to miss it any longer.

And that … was a better deal than he could ever have hoped for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, everybody! MinYun and I have another fic in the works so look out for that in the future. Everybody, stay safe and have a great day :)

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos really help us with our motivation and confidence so, if you have a spare minute, let us know what you think! Have a great day :)


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